


Behind Blue Eyes

by Purdy18



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 64,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7811944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purdy18/pseuds/Purdy18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I was watching Sea Change and I got to wondering what would Fiona, Sam and Jesse have done if their plan to capture Michael at the boathouse had worked? Would Michael forgive them? Where would they go? Who would get to them first? James and Sonya, or Agent Strong and the CIA? Then, a little later on the same day, I was checking out some videos on YouTube and voilà!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Behind Blue Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Song fic.  
> Disclaimer: Behind Blue Eyes was written by Pete Townshend and was produced by The Who & Glyn Johns. Burn Notice belongs to Matt Nix. This has been written for fun.

The silver-colored luxury sedan was traveling steadily over the old port bridge. Everything looked to be going perfectly to plan. When all of a sudden, it began to speed up and dangerously swerve out of control, for one brief second looking like it might even crash through the safety rails and descend into the water below. But then it was over and the vehicle came to a stop diagonally across one lane.

 

Moments later, a tall dark haired figure leapt out of the passenger door, followed immediately by the driver throwing open his door and jumping out too. As others looked on, the two men were embroiled in a heated argument.

 

000oo000

 

"What are they doing?" Fiona Glenanne asked the question, but in truth she didn't need to hear the answer. She already knew what was happening across the water from where she stood.

 

Standing side by side with Jesse Porter, all the auburn-haired Irishwoman could do was watch helplessly as their carefully laid plan fell apart before their eyes. Fiona lowered her binoculars, her skin ashen as she realized they had lost. Both men were out of the car and, just from their body language, there was no doubt left in her mind that Michael, like the highly skilled predator he was, had spotted the trap they had been waiting to spring.

 

She couldn't remember another time when she had ever felt as impotent as she did right then. Standing at the edge of the floating jetty, staring out over the water, as Sam began to fight for what was left of the battle weary spy's soul.

 

"It's going all wrong... We need to get down there now." She turned to towards Jesse, her expression that of a woman who was not going to take no for an answer.

 

Looking over the petite woman's head, Jesse winced as he witnessed Sam body slam his best-friend onto the hood of the car and a fraction of a second later smash his fist down where the spy's head had been only moments earlier.

 

"Damn straight, before they kill -" The shaven headed younger man paused, as Michael used both legs in a double kick, hitting his target squarely in the chest with both feet in rapid succession.

 

"Oh hell," he moaned, as with a sudden burst of speed and most likely a gut full of desperation, the former SEAL rushed his younger opponent and use his momentum to send them both sailing out over the rail and into the water far below.

 

"Jesse, get in or get left behind!" Fiona shouted, gunning the engine of her sports car to emphasize her words.

 

The wheels of her Hyundai spun, making the tires squeal as she drove rapidly towards the most likely spot for the two men to surface. She was still reeling from witnessing how far Michael had fallen under the spell of James Kendrick and that evil little troll bitch, Sonya Lebedenko.

 

She should have pushed harder for Sam to take a taser along as a backup. He should have never had attempted to bring Michael in on his own. But none of them had truly believed that their best friend would have turned so completely against them.

 

"Sam's better in the water," Jesse muttered, trying to offer up some reassurance. "He's the stronger swimmer, yeah. Yeah, he can take Mike down in the water... I mean, the guy was a SEAL..."

 

"Jesse, shut up. And just – just -" She flexed her fingers on the steering wheel and sent out her own silent prayers that it was the SEAL winning the battle taking place under the waves. But deep in her heart, she knew Michael would win out. It is one of the things she loved most about him: he always found a way to succeed.

 

"There! Look!... Oh, damn..." Jesse pointed excitedly until he realized who it was swimming for the platform under the bridge, then he reached for the shotgun laying at his feet instead.

 

"Fi, pull over. Get ready with the sedative. I'll - - "  
He had shot Michael Westen once before, he could do it again.

 

"No, I'll take the gun." This was something she had to do. She knew deep down that she had to take her fair share of the blame for what had happened to her former lover. If she had to shoot him to bring him back to his senses, well, so be it.

 

With the little red sports car stopped and blocking off any hope the spy had of taking Sam's ride, the couple climbed out and moved cautiously towards the steps which led down to the waters edge.

 

They came to a stop as they heard Michael speaking, hearing the deadly threat in his tone.

 

"– – been through so much together, I'm gonna let this go. But you stay the hell outta my way, Sam."

 

And then he was there, right in front of her, dripping wet and exuding an icy rage. As he looked her straight in the face, she saw only cold hatred. There was nothing of the man she loved showing in his narrowed deep blue eyes.

 

"Move, Fi," he growled out her name, his muscles tensing when he saw the gun and read her intent.

 

She couldn't give him a chance. She couldn't give him an opportunity to speak any more. Just seeing that look on his face, she knew that if she didn't stop him now, she might end up having to kill him for real.

 

The shotgun bucked in her hand and Michael staggered backwards as the rubber projectile hit him squarely in the chest. But somehow he managed to stay upright, his features registering shock at what she'd done.

 

"Fi?" The word came out of his mouth in a gasp as she changed her aim and fired again.

 

Long ago on the streets of Ireland, British soldiers had learned that the rubber bullets they were issued with to control the rioting natives were incapable of stopping a determined attack. So she did what they had learned to do and angled her next shot into the ground, sending the ricocheting bullet up into the man she still loved at a far greater velocity than the first shot. It had been the exact same technique used which had killed her Uncle Milo and set her own father on the path to becoming a bomb-maker and bank robber.

 

The impact dropped Michael to his knees, his expression horrified as his hands frantically reached to his chest as if searching for a wound.

 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she whispered and turned away, unable to watch as Jesse closed in and injected a sedative into the rogue spy's neck before easing their fallen friend down onto the hard concrete deck.

 

"Fi, Jesse, what's goin -?"

 

Upon hearing the ex-SEAL's voice, she let the shotgun slip from her grip and rushed over to the steps as Sam Axe staggered into view. His expression, if possible, was becoming even grimmer as he took in the scene before him.

 

"What have you done?" He batted her hand away as she tried to help him up the last of the steps, all his attention on his former friend now lying drugged at the side of the road.

 

"We all agreed. We had to stop him. The plan is still the same! Come on, let's get him in the car... Sam! Come on before he wakes up." She justified hitting her former lover with two non-lethal shotgun rounds at close range while tugging on the older man's arm in an effort to make him move.

 

Ignoring the younger woman for a moment, the former Naval commander wiped away the blood trailing sluggishly down the side of his face from the cut above his eye. He could see no good way for this to end.

 

"C'mon, big fella, that shot I gave him ain't gonna last forever," Jesse called out with a loud grunt, as he rose to his feet with Michael's limp body slung over his shoulder.

 

"Put him in the trunk," Sam ordered, his tone lacking any of the usual warmth his companions were used to hearing when he spoke about or to his best friend. "Jess, you're gonna have to drive my car... If we're doing this, we don't take any more chances. Because, I'm tellin' ya, we do not want him coming round loose on the back seat."

 

"Sam, it's Mike," the younger man tried to reason. But he was cut off by the auburn-haired woman who was holding the lid of the trunk open.

 

"Not now, he isn't... Jesse, let's do it Sam's way. It's for the best. It won't hurt him and it's only for a few minutes."

 

Without another word, the tall man dropped his friend into the trunk and rearranged the sleeping man's limbs until they could shut the lid without risking injuring him. "You sure you don't want me to cable tie his wrists, so... er... you know... to make sure he can't escape."

 

"No, not yet. But we'll have do it before we get him on the plane," Sam answered grimly. "Speaking of which, we should get moving before James or Sonya come looking for their new best friend."

 

Fiona pulled up outside the boathouse in front of where Madeline Westen paced nervously back and forth waiting for them. The older woman rushed forward as soon the red sports car came to a stop.

 

"What happened? Did Sam manage to stop him? Where's Michael?" The questions were fired one after another.

 

"Madeline..." Fiona tenderly caught hold of the older woman's arms and held her still. "Come inside with me. I'll explain everything, but we have to get ready to leave. Now."

 

"Now? I thought -" The blond stared passed her son's ex-girlfriend to where Michael's two best-friends where lifting his limp body out of the trunk of Sam's car and carrying him into the empty storage room.

 

"Madeline, we need to get moving. We talked about this... The CIA, James' people will be looking for us."

 

The older woman stared for a moment longer, lost in thought as the enormity of what they were doing truly dawned on her. Her remaining son was a traitor to their country. He had turned his back on them all and abandoned them to either face a lifetime in prison or the not so tender mercies of his new friends.

 

"Promise me, we'll get him back." She looked directly into the blue-green eyes of the younger woman. "You'll get Michael back to who he was."

 

Fiona smiled, and fixed the older woman with a determined gaze. "Even if I end up having to kick his ass all the way across the Atlantic. I promise, we'll straighten him out."

 

Michael lay sprawled out on the hard concrete floor of the boathouse, stripped down to his boxers, even his sunglasses, wristwatch and shoes were gone, bagged up with his clothes along with a couple of large rocks waiting to be thrown out into the river.

 

"C'mon, dude, help me get him into these threads. The guy weighs a ton." Jesse had managed to get a pair of grey sweat pants up over the unconscious spy's knees and was now struggling to turn the limp body onto its side so he could pull the garment up over the other man's hips.

 

Sam squatted down to help. His eyes fixing on the sleeping visage of his best friend... Former best-friend? "I don't like this... This is a mistake. We should just let him go and get the hell outta here ourselves."

 

"You want to give up on him?" Jesse asked, surprise in his voice.

 

Sam sighed and ran a hand over his mouth and chin trying to think of a way to explain. "You didn't see him back there. He's gone, Jesse... He's my best friend, and it kills me to say it, but when I looked into his eyes, the Michael Westen I knew wasn't there." He swiped at his eyes and got to his feet, leaving the younger man to finish dressing his friend......  
How could they save a man who didn't want to be saved?

 

He couldn't hide his sorrow any longer. Crossing the floor, he stepped out into the rain and raised his face towards the heavens, hoping the moisture falling from the sky would mask the tears trailing down his cheeks. He could still see the look of pure hatred etched into the features of the dark haired spy as Mike admitted he had turned his back on them all, not only his government and country, but his friends and family, too. The hateful bitter words of betrayal still rang clearly through the troubled ex-SEALs mind. But it wasn't just the words that had broken Sam's heart. It was the knowledge that Michael Westen, the man closer to him than any brother, had fallen under the thrall of one monster and was now nothing more than a monster himself.

 

()()()()ooo()()()()

 

No one knows what it's like  
To be the bad man  
To be the sad man  
Behind blue eyes

No one knows what it's like  
To be hated  
To be fated  
To telling only lies

But my dreams  
They aren't as empty  
As my conscience seems to be  
I have hours, only lonely  
My love is vengeance  
That's never free

 

()()()()ooo()()()()

 

Madeline Westen stared out of the Seaplane window and put her hand up to her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes as she got her first proper look at her son as he was held up by Sam and Jesse and marched along the floating jetty towards the doors to the plane.

 

Michael's head hung down, his feet dragging along the ground as he slumped between the two larger, heavier men who supported him with a shoulder under each of his arms. Still in the grip of the strong sedatives Jesse had injected into his veins less than twenty minutes earlier, the dark haired, semi-conscious spy was incapable of either helping or hindering in his progress along the dock.

 

"It's going to be fine." Fiona tried to soothe the older woman. "Once we're somewhere safe, we'll sit him down and talk some sense into him."

 

"Is that what you think?" Madeline replied in a scathing tone. "You think you'll be able to talk my son into seeing what he's done is wrong?"

 

"He's just got lost, Madeline. We have to show him -"

 

The feel of the plane dipping down slightly and then the sight of Jesse's broad back coming through the narrow door caused both women to halt their discussion and instead turn their attention to the youngest member of their group.

 

Fiona leaned further over the seats, doing her best to block Charlie's view of his uncle being manhandled inside and strapped securely down into one of the seats near the front. Meanwhile Madeline fussed, making sure her grandson was strapped into his seat and that he had a tight hold on his favorite dinosaur toy.

 

"Let us know if he starts to come round. I'd rather not have to fight with him while we're in the air." Sam turned to pull the doors shut, his tone flat and cold. "We got everything?"

 

"Everything in the boathouse is on board or tossed into the river." Fiona told him, as she took a seat next to her former lover, her fingers reaching out to comb through his wet, messed up hair.

 

"Good, let's get out of here." Fitting into the pilot's seat with Jesse at the co-pilot spot, Sam began to go through the checks for take off.

 

()()()()ooo()()()()

 

No one knows what it's like  
To be the bad man  
To be the sad man  
Behind blue eyes

No one knows what it's like  
To feel these feelings  
Like I do  
And I blame you

No one bites back as hard  
On their anger  
None of my pain and woe  
Can show through

 

()()()()ooo()()()()

 

Fiona had shot him!

 

Michael tossed and turned, his limbs moving restlessly as he fought his way out of the drug haze he had been kept in throughout the journey away from Miami.

 

Fiona had shot him!

 

Sam had refused to understand what he was doing. It was the only way to keep them safe and give him a life worth living.

 

"You know when she gets like this... things tend to go boom." 

 

Sam and Fiona were working together. The thought hit him like a punch. His friends had turned against him.

 

He sat up sharply and fell back just as fast. Lying on his back, he stared up at the dark ceiling and the empty light fitting dangling over his head as he tried to catch his breath.  
They had kidnapped his mother and nephew, and burnt down her home... Had they gone crazy?

 

A wave of nausea came out of nowhere, a rush of heat drenched him in sweat and his stomach heaved, barely giving him time to turn and let his head hang off the side of the bed before the tiny amount of food left in his body ended up on the dust covered floor.

 

Breathing deeply through his nose, he sat up again. This time taking things slowly and wiping a trembling hand over his mouth, Michael took a long look at his surroundings. There wasn't much to see. He was in a small windowless room, which he thought might have been used for storage in the past. The walls were lined with two rows of shelving and looked pretty substantial. He would test them later if he couldn't get out through the wood door across on the other side of the room, which brought him to his next task; he had to get to his feet and make the walk to the door.

 

Lurching up on to his feet, the dark haired spy stood swaying while he fought the dizziness and the urge to throw up again. Closing his eyes, he tried to center himself and gain control over his senses. He had one goal: to get out of wherever he was being held and back to James and Sonya...

 

They had ruined everything, his so-called friends. All they had to do was stay away and trust that he knew what he was doing and they couldn't even do that for him.

 

With his building anger adding to his sense of purpose, he opened his eyes and took the five steps necessary to cross the room. When he pushed down on the handle, he was surprised to find they hadn't locked him inside. Slowly, inch by inch, he opened the door just enough so he could see what, or rather who, was on the other side.

 

()()()()ooo()()()()

No one knows what it's like  
To be the bad man  
To be the sad man  
Behind blue eyes

No one knows what it's like  
To be hated  
To be fated  
To telling only lies

 

()()()()ooo()()()()

 

The work tops in the kitchen were covered in a good inch of dust and long wispy cobwebs hung from the ceiling and off the two old wall cabinets. There was a cracked enamel sink in front of the window, which was so filthy barely any light could shine through.

 

"Do you think it's wise leaving Madeline and Charlie in the other room?" Fiona hissed, her eyes going to the door which Sam was leaning against with his ear pressed to the wooden surface. "If -"

 

"Mike's gonna be waking up soon. If we're in there and confront him head on, he'll fight back. We need to keep things as calm as possible," Sam replied as he continued to eavesdrop on what was happening on the other side of the door.

 

"Sam's right, Fi," Jesse added. "Mike's been brainwashed by James. We can't be talking smack to him while we're trying to get his head outta—"

 

"Talk?" Fiona couldn't believe that that was the plan. As far as she could see, Michael was well past their being able to talk him round. "Sam, you tried talking to him and look what happened."

 

"But he won't be able to get away this time. There's nowhere left for him to go. We've already ruined any plans he had on going back to James," the older man replied and then, with a sigh, he turned his attention fully onto the auburn haired woman. "Look, this whole thing was your idea, sister. I'm just trying to make sure we all get outta this in one piece. Besides, Maddy insisted she was going to be the one to talk to Mike first."

 

Slowly, inch by inch, Michael pushed opened the door to the room he had woken up in, just enough so he could see what, or rather who, was on the other side. But when he did, he blinked and rubbed at his eyes.  
How could they do this? Bring a child into this...?

 

Charlie sat cross legged on the floor, less than ten feet from where he stood. The little boy was playing with his large plastic dinosaurs. He had one in each hand and they were fighting, the three-year-old making the noises to accompany the battle.

 

"Try telling that to Nate! The people who killed your brother thought they were doing good, too."  
Sam's words flashed into his mind along with some other things he would rather forget.

 

The innocence in the boy's large brown eyes, the way his thick bangs hung down over his forehead, it all reminded Michael of his own baby brother, Charlie's father, Nate.

 

"I would have never taken that shot," had been one of the many excuses made by Tom Card, the one which had sealed his old training officer's fate.

 

The dark haired spy rested his head against the edge of the door frame, a chill running down his spine as other memories continued to whirl around in his drug hazed mind. All of a sudden, he could taste and smell the cheap alcohol he had used to block out the wreck he had made of his life. He could feel the burning need to take a drink so he could forget what was happening - what he had become.

 

"This mission is getting out of control. Strong, you need to talk to your people at the CIA, make them understand I can't do this."  
He had stood over the sleeping shape of a little girl, holding a gun to her head. One word from Burke and he would have had to take the shot or risk losing not only his life, but that of his friends and his mother.  
"Michael, calm down. I know you're upset."  
"Upset?" he'd echoed in disbelief. "Burke almost had me kill a child." Surely once the CIA knew, once they knew what he had nearly had to do to save the mission, they would understand.  
But Strong hadn't understood, or he hadn't cared. He hadn't cared that a child had nearly died or that his agent was close to breaking.  
"You can, you have to. You know as well as I do it's not just your ass on the line if this mission goes south. Michael, do you understand?"

 

Burke had used the threat of killing a child to get the father to talk. Strong had as good as told him if he had to kill a child, the CIA had no problem with that.  
And now were Fiona and Sam using the same tactic? Were they putting Charlie in his path, daring him to kill a child...?

 

He blinked. No, there was something else going on. There had to be something else going on.

 

He couldn't afford to wait around. Taking his eyes off his nephew, who continued to play, Michael peered further into the room towards the single window and saw the shutters were closed and the room was lit by oil lanterns hanging high up on the walls.

 

He must have missed the hand over with James. The dark haired spy looked at the tan line on his wrist where his watch should have been.  
Did they know what they had done? Did his so-called friends know they had ruined everything?

 

()()()()ooo()()()()

 

But my dreams  
They aren't as empty  
As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely  
My love is vengeance  
That's never free

No one knows what it's like  
To feel these feelings  
Like I do  
And I blame you

No one bites back as hard  
On their anger  
None of my pain and woe  
Can show through

 

()()()()ooo()()()()

 

Opening the door, he cautiously stepped into the room and that was when he saw his mother sitting in the corner of the room with a book on her lap.

 

"Mom? What's going on?" He scanned the room, wondering where everybody else was hiding.

 

"Michael, you're awake."

 

She tried to smile, but he had seen that same look before. It was the one that she used to plaster on her face when his dear old Dad walked through the door after being out on a tear. "S-Sam said you'd be thirsty." She held out a bottle of blue Gatorade, her hand trembling.

 

He curled his lip, dismissing her concern. Instead he moved towards the shuttered window and the door.

 

"Where are we?"

 

"How about something to eat?" Madeline smiled nervously. "There's yogurt in the cooler."

 

Enough of this!....... He spun around and crossed the room, pulling his mother up on to her feet. "Mom, this is important. How long have we been here? And where the hell is here?"

 

"Michael..." Madeline's blue eyes, so much like her son's, were wide with fear. But the inner steel which had stopped her from breaking when her husband had been alive now gave her the strength to stand up to her son. She got her breathing under control and returned his gaze levelly as he dropped his grip.

 

"Mom, I mean it, how long?" He folded his arms over his chest and glared down at her.

 

"You've been asleep for a full day... Honey, we're all so worried about you." She reached out to tenderly stroke his cheek, but he jerked his head out of the way.

 

"Do you have any idea -?" He shook his head. It was pointless berating her. She didn't have a clue what was really going on.

 

"I had men sitting outside my home, Michael, watching my every move. I had men inviting themselves into my house! I think I have some idea what sort of people you were working with."

 

"That was for your protection," he snapped back. "James was -"

 

"Just trying to look out for me?" she finished his sentence for him, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, please-"

 

"Unca Mike?"

 

Charlie's voice was little more than a whisper. He had heard a lot of raised voices in his short life. It was a sound he related to losing somebody. His mom and dad had screamed at each other and then his daddy had gone. Then his mommy had shouted at everybody because she had been so sad and he had tried his best to be good, but she had left him too. And now Uncle Mike and Grandma were fighting...

 

Tears welled in his eyes and, as the first sob came from his mouth, the adults froze.

 

"Don' go, I be good. Don' go."

 

Michael looked down at the child clutching at his leg with something akin to horror. How could they put him in this position? They knew how he felt about his brother's son… what the hell was wrong with them?

 

He sunk down to the toddler's level and looked into his big brown moisture filled eyes. He looked so much like Nate, it hurt to look at him. "I have to go, to keep you and Grandma safe. Do you understand?"

 

Madeline came over and swept her grandson into her arms, cradling him against her body. Her eyes no longer held fear but were filled with fire. "He is three years old, Michael. All he understands is that you want to leave us."

 

"I'm doing this for you," he spat back. "If Fiona - if you had all just left me alone, all this would be over already. You've ruined everything!"

 

"Michael!" She called out as he walked towards the door. "Michael, I don't want to lose my only son."

 

He turned and glanced back at her, his hand twisting the knob the catch clicking open. "You're not going to lose me, but you have to stay away from me and let me do what has to be done."

 

When he pushed on the door, he was surprised when it opened so easily. Stepping outside, he expected to find either Sam, Fiona or Jesse or maybe all three of them on guard duty. But instead he found himself all alone on a rickety wooden porch, staring out at what looked to be miles of swampland surrounding the house.

 

Walking cautiously all the way around the wrap around porch, the spy discovered an airboat tied to a post; however, when he checked out the vehicle, he discovered the spark plugs and leads missing, making the vehicle useless.

 

Massaging the bridge of his nose, Michael fought against the headache building behind his eyes. Then abruptly he turned to go back inside.

 

"Mom, please, where are we?" he demanded, as he snatched up the Gatorade and took a long gulping drink from the bottle.

 

Madeline, who still held Charlie in her arms, watched her son warily. "Louisiana, a friend of Sam's – – "

 

"And where is Sam?"

 

"I'm right here, Mikey... So are Fi and Jesse."

 

Mr Westen turned to stare at his friends as they filed quietly into the room. The covert operative noticed how they spread out, making it impossible to take them all on at once. Sam was nearest the door leading to the outside, Jesse by the shuttered window and Fiona close to where Madeline stood in the corner of the room with Charlie, who sensing the tension amongst the adults, clung to his grandmother.

 

"We're sorry we drugged you, but we need to talk." Jesse spoke first, his voice soft and serious.

 

"What you need to do is let me go... You all have no idea what you've done," Michael replied, his tone icy cold. "Where's my phone?"

 

"Sorry, Mike, but no phone calls, and you're not leaving until you're thinking straight." Sam held up a hand as his best friend glared at him.

 

It was like they had captured a wild animal which was just waiting for the first opportunity to pounce.

 

"Sam told us that you're with James now," Fiona added, trying to deflect her formers lover's ire. "That you've turned your back on us all."

 

Him turning his back?  
Hadn't she turned her back on him first? Hadn't she told him it was over? Hadn't she enjoyed her open displays of affection with her Latin lover? His lip curled and the look he sent was filled with pure disdain.

 

"Regardless of what you think you know, I did this for you, for all of you. Do think the CIA would keep their word and let you all walk away? Don't you realize they probably have another mission waiting for me when this one is over? And your heads will still be on the chopping block just to keep me in line."

 

He had spent his entire life using people as assets for the CIA and now they were returning the favor. He wasn't an agent, he was their asset. They would use him, use his friends… it would have never ended.

 

"You made a deal," Jesse answered.

 

Michael laughed, the sound sending shivers up the collective spines of those watching how close to becoming unhinged their friend was. "They used Simon! They started making deals with him as soon as he was thrown in prison. The C.I.A. has no honor. They believe in nothing... I was nothing more than a weapon to them... Well, not any more. Now I'm gonna be the one calling the shots." He rounded on Sam. "So you better step out of my way." He then glared at Fiona and Jesse. "That means the both of you, too."

 

He paused, watching warily as his mother and nephew exited the room and with great effort brought himself back under control. The dark haired man looked at the tense, worried expressions on his collection of former friends.

 

"What was this supposed to be? An intervention?" he snorted derisively and then sighed heavily. "I need to get back to Miami and repair the damage you've caused."

 

"There's no going back, buddy." Sam blocked the door, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a fight. He took a breath and then continued, noting that Fiona and Jesse were moving into position for the expected explosion.

 

"We'd put a tracker on you. So, before we left Miami, I took your phone and sent Strong a text message telling him you were at an old building in the Everglades about seven miles from Pearl Bay... From what I heard, Strong has Sonya in custody."

 

"WHAT? What the hell have you done?" The dark haired spy stepped forward his hands curled into fists, the last vestiges of friendship falling from his eyes..... What had they done? Sonya, Sonya in CIA hands... James! James was going to blame him for this betrayal. 

 

His heart was beating wildly as his mind tried to wrap itself around the enormity of what these people who claimed to care about him had done to his carefully laid plans.

 

"I – I had it all under control." Michael's voice, low and deadly, was more frightening than his previous outburst. "You—"

 

Before Sam's former best friend could launch his attack on the ex-SEAL, Jesse came up behind him, wrapping his arms around the furious spy's waist, pinning his arms down to his side. The younger man was stuck doing his best to keep hold as his captive used every trick he knew to break the grip around his middle, which was not only pining his arms, but squeezing the breath out of his lungs too.

 

Finally though, Michael stopped struggling, realizing that even with a broken nose from where he had caught Jesse in the face with the back of his head, the shaven haired former CIFA agent was the stronger man and had no intention of willingly letting him go.

 

"Mike, Mike, look at me, brother... If he has any sense, James is long gone. Sonya is locked away in a deep dark hole somewhere... It's over... And we ain't leaving here until we're sure you're thinking straight." Sam tried to reason with his friend, but the dark haired spy stared sullenly into space.

 

With a sigh, Sam pointed towards the door to the room Michael had woken up in. "Jess, put him back in there... Fi, grab the cooler."

 

Mr Porter force marched the ex-Ranger towards that door. He took it as a good sign that the man in his grip hadn't tried to kill him in his attempts to escape thus far. As soon as Jesse released his grip, the younger man shoved the older man down onto the bed and speedily backed away.

 

"You've got drinks and a few yogurts in there to keep you going... Just think things through and you'll see what we've done is the right thing." The navy man lingered just inside the room.

 

Finally, Michael looked Sam straight in the eye. "What you've done... What you've done is set James against us all. He was going to sacrifice himself to keep you all out of CIA prison. He was doing it for me. Now – now he'll hunt us all to the ends of the Earth and, as for the C.I.A, they wanted James and they didn't get him... I'd say they're going to be looking for us too... I hope you're all happy."

 

"Strong has Sonya and a whole lotta their guys," Sam answered, keeping his cool. "So, I think the CIA will at least be willing to listen to what we have to say... But that doesn't really matter. When you went off with the CIA, one of the first things we all did once we were sure they weren't watching us too closely was get fresh, top-of-the-line fake IDs. We even arranged one for you." He paused to let the words sink in before finishing. "I don't want to run. None of us do. We all had lives back in Miami. But if it comes down to knowing the only reason we have our nice safe lives in Miami is because you've destroyed your soul... Well, I for one couldn't live with that. I know you think you're saving us, Mike, but the price is too high. We stuck together when it was the CIA hunting us all, brother. We're not walking away from you now."

 

The former SEAL waited, hoping for a response. But when none came, he backed out of the room and closed the door. Wiping a hand over his eyes, he stared at his other friends. "All we can do now is wait."

 

"For how long?" Fiona demanded.

 

"As long as it takes... You didn't think this would be easy did you?"

()()()()ooo()()()()

When my fist clenches, crack it open  
Before I use it and lose my cool  
When I smile, tell me some bad news  
Before I laugh and act like a fool  
If I swallow anything evil  
Put your finger down my throat  
If I shiver, please give me a blanket  
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat  
No one knows what it's like  
To be the bad man  
To be the sad man  
Behind blue eyes

 

()()()()ooo()()()()

 

tbc


	2. Broken Crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is all for fun. Neither Behind Blue Eyes or Broken Crown belong to me. BBE was written by Pete Townshend. BC was written by: Edward James Milton Dwane, Benjamin Walter David Lovett, Marcus Oliver Johnstone Mumford, Winston Aubrey Aladar Marshall. Copyright: Universal Music Publishing Ltd.

Broken Crown

oo0oo

Touch my mouth and hold my tongue  
I'll never be your chosen one  
I'll be home safe and tucked away  
Well You can't tempt me if I don't see the day

The pull on my flesh was just too strong  
Stifled the choice and the air in my lungs  
Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie  
'Cause when I opened my body I breathe in a lie

oo0oo

After Sam closed the door, the windowless room was thrown back into near darkness. Michael remained seated on the edge of the narrow cot with his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. The foggy haze from the drugs his so-called friends had used on him was slowly clearing away allowing him to truly get a grip on what they had done to him.

 

"We saw ya, Mike. We tailed ya to that marina. You're telling me on the phone you haven't seen James and I'm watching you shake hands with the sonuvabitch." The accusation sounded loud in his head.

 

Sam had said tailed, but what he had meant was tracked. They had somehow managed to get a tracker on him without raising his suspicion. Since Mexico, where he'd had his eyes opened to what his CIA masters were capable of, he had made a point of avoiding his friends and family where possible. He had told each one of them to stay away, as his mission was nearing completion and he needed to be particularly careful.

 

Then it came to him in a rush. Fiona had been the one to slip through his defenses. She had turned up at the loft late at night, disregarding his wishes because she wanted to talk.

 

"You can't do this alone, Michael," she had begun her lecture. "If your cover is blown, the CIA will hang - you - out - to dry. Know what you'll be left with?"   
He had finally allowed himself to look at her as she had taken his gun from under his pillow.   
"This is not enough." She'd held the weapon up and then pulled the clip, flicking several bullets out into her palm. "And these... They're not enough... You need our help." 

 

She had taken the bullets from his gun, shown them to him and must have pulled a switch, swapping the real thing for a dummy shell with a tracker inside when she reloaded the weapon. And because he'd trusted her, because he always trusted her, he hadn't rechecked the gun. He fell back on to the thin hard mattress to stare up at the ceiling, unable to deny the fact that he had been a fool.

 

He turned his head to stare at the door of his prison. Only it wasn't a prison, Sam hadn't locked the door on leaving, just pulled it closed. He could walk out any time he wanted to. He could, if he really wanted to, go out there and drag the location of the airboats missing spark plugs out of Sam or one of the others and be on his way.

 

Only where would he go?........ Agent Andrew Strong and the CIA?.......Never, never again, 

 

Whatever happened now, he was done with being used as a weapon by his government, by the people who could free a monster like Simon Escher and put that walking nightmare in charge of a team. His rage at that particular betrayal still ran through his veins unabated. Simon was dead, but how many other monsters were out there, freed because they served a purpose?

 

No, he would never allow himself to be used again.

 

Wiping a hand over his eyes, he thought about his other option. If he went back to James, if he could convince the leader of the organization he had been captured and had no part in Sonya's arrest. If he proved beyond doubt he was loyal...

 

"You have to let your friends go."  
Sonya had been right. He should have listened to her and let them go right from the start. He should have done whatever was necessary to make them back off. James would want retribution. He would expect his new number two to show where his true allegiance lay. The former Delta would require...

 

He desperately tried to stop the thought, unwilling to follow that trail of reasoning to the obvious conclusion.

 

A shiver went up and down the spy's spine and another wave of heat flushed over his skin and he was back on his feet, running for the door, flinging the thin piece of rotting wood wide before the rising tide of nausea overtook him completely.

 

Standing over the sleeping figure of Rafael Serano's daughter, the silencer on his gun aimed straight at the child's head.........  
Charlie curled up with his toy dinosaur, sleeping as peacefully as only an innocent is capable, while some stranger stands over him, waiting for the word to end his life.........  
Staring at Roger Steele through his rifle scope, apologizing to the man just before he blew a hole through his chest.........  
Sam sitting outside Carlitos, a mojito in his hand, when the shot comes........  
His Mom, Jesse, Charlie, Sam, Fiona, all hiding in what they think is a safe house when a helicopter gunship descends.......

 

"Here," Fiona called, seemingly stepping out of nowhere, urgently grabbing his arm and directing him towards the bathroom and then down beside the toilet bowl. He could feel her presence behind him as his stomach clenched and he threw up again. Afterwards, once he was back on his feet, the miserable dark haired man gripped the old enamel sink and stared into the badly tarnished mirror before him.

 

"Here, wash your mouth out with this." Fiona handed him a bottle of water, the lid already twisted off.

 

Taking the bottle with a shaky hand, Michael swilled out his mouth and then spat into the toilet before pushing down on the flush. Then after taking several sips from the bottle to ease his sore throat, he turned to face the woman he had once loved.

 

"Why are you really here, Fiona?" he asked, his tone flat and cold.

 

She looked at him, her eyes widening and her lips forming a nervous smile. He knew that look. It was the expression she wore when she had been discovered doing something she shouldn't and she was about to try to justify her actions.

 

"We -"

 

"Not we, you. Why are you here, Fi? You had no problem last week, using me, using Sonya to rescue your boyfriend. And then – what? After I give you what you've been asking for this whole time... I back off, I tell Strong to leave you alone, I do everything in my power to remove you from my life, just like you wanted. What then? You change your mind?"

 

He knew he was as good as begging to be hit. Hell, he knew if he didn't stop talking it would happen. But that didn't mean the stinging slap to his cheek didn't hurt.

 

"I hated having to drag you in to help save Carlos and I wish I'd never asked you to involve Sonya and that damn organization you've aligned yourself with. But at the time I didn't realize exactly how far that bitch had sucked you in."

 

He was taken aback by the fury in her words but clueless as to the reason; they had only done what she asked them to. It wasn't their fault that Carlos Cruz was unhappy with the methods used to save his life.

 

"Well, in future if you have a boyfriend in trouble, deal with it yourself." He wanted to push past her and go back to hide in his dark little cell, just seeing her this close and knowing what she had done was making him feel ill. But she stood her ground, blocking the doorway and showing no sign of getting out of his way.

 

"Sonya used a helicopter firing missiles to destroy a house. Seven people died... They weren't all guilty, Michael. Some of those killed or injured were women and children."

 

"And if she hadn't done what she did, we would all be dead," he answered her accusation calmly. "Those people, they were living with a cartel boss..."

 

"Can you hear yourself? You're explaining away a massacre."

 

"You forget, we're over. You moved on. I don't have to explain myself to you... Now, get outta my way."

 

The former lovers stared at each other, neither one willing to back down.

 

She'd had no problem with the methods employed to save her boyfriend's life until the hand wringing former gangbanger dumped her. She'd claimed to be upset about the death of Ben Snyder, the coward who would have let her burn to death in order to save his own miserable existence. But she had to understand that cowardice had no place in an organization such as James was running. Besides, what could he have done to stop the execution?

 

And then when he had given her what she wanted, instead of being happy she had attempted to undermine his mission and spied on him, placing a tracker in his gun to keep tabs on where he went. She confused him, trying to follow her logic was near impossible. Collateral damage was unfortunate, but it happened.

 

Sonya hadn't been in Columbia when she had passed the order on for the gunship to attack. She hadn't known who was in the compound... Then a little voice in the back of his mind broke into his thoughts, clawing at his reasoning........ But the blonde had been on the scene when she went to order a similar attack on the home of his friend, Roger Steele. The former GRU operative had known exactly how many people would have died inside the villa on the Canary Islands, but it hadn't stopped her from going to make the call. If he hadn't made the offer to kill a man who had helped him numerous times during his career. If he hadn't assassinated a friend... 

 

Michael blinked and did his best to stop that particular chain of thought. Roger had to die in order to protect the organization. It was as simple as that. Softening his expression, he smiled sadly. "I'm not going to fight with you, not any more, you should all be busy coming up with a plan for when James finds you."

 

Her expression mirrored his own as she move aside to let him past. "Not just us, you too."

 

"And whose fault is that?"

oo0oo

I will not speak of your sin  
There was a way out for Him  
The mirror shows not  
Your values are all shot

But oh my heart was flawed. I knew my weakness  
So hold my hand consign me not to darkness

So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down  
I'll never wear your broken crown  
I took the road and I fucked it all away  
Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace

oo0oo

The auburn haired ex-PIRA terrorist watched the dark haired stranger through narrowed blue-green eyes as he walked swiftly across the living room of the abandoned house, ignoring his friends and his mother to go outside. She bit down on her lower lip in an effort to control the rising tide of temper which was flooding her mind and body....... How dare he! How dare he dismiss them all as if they were nothing. He had dragged them all back into his life, putting them in danger, and then he thought he could just walk away.

 

The Irishwoman followed in the wake of her wayward former lover, Sam might want to play softly softly and try to nudge the stubborn bastard in the right direction. But that wasn't how she did things.

 

"Fi! Fiona! Dammit, Tinkerbell!"

 

She took great satisfaction in slamming the door shut in Sam's face.

 

And then she let rip, not caring one iota about the venom pouring out from her mouth in words and tone.

 

"Do you care about anyone except for yourself? Do you care that your Ma is petrified, not only for herself, but for you too?... And what about Charlie? D'ya think he'll like it in foster care?... How about Sam, your best friend? The man who has just walked away from a woman he loves to save you from making the biggest mistake of your life. And Jesse? You ruined his career trying to bring down an organization exactly like the one you've thrown in with. How d'ya think he feels about that?"

 

She could see her words were having an effect. She could see the play of his muscles through the thin white T-shirt he was wearing. She watched his sharply defined biceps bunch as his long fingers flexed as they gripped the porch rail.

 

That last comment, comparing his sacred James with Vaughn and Management, had hit a spot. It was like Sam had said when he had brought up Anson Fullerton and the death of Michael's brother, Nate. But she wasn't finished yet.

 

"D'ya know what's really sad? You becoming the thing you hate and you can't even see it... You're willingly betraying your country on the word of a man who slaughtered his own team. You know what James Kendrick did to his own people. Here, let me remind you... Your new best friend waited until his team mates were asleep and then he crept through the camp and slit their throats. Are you ready to do the same, Michael? Do we all need to sleep with one eye -"

 

"It's not like that," he interrupted, his voice so low she had to strain to hear him.

 

"No? Really? Tell me, please, what it is like then?"

 

He shook his head and then turned to face her. "You wouldn't understand. You haven't spent your whole life being lied to." He sighed. "All James has done is show me the truth."

 

She laughed at him, laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Stepping in closer, she smirked as he straightened up, pushing away from the rail he had been resting against..... Good, he was feeling threatened.

 

"The truth of it all? Oh my God, d'ya hear yourself?" She raised an eyebrow, and took another step into his personal space. "The truth of it is, he has duped you into becoming a traitor and made you his puppet."

 

He attempted to move her, his hands on her shoulders shoving her backwards. But she dug in her heels and used her arms and elbows to break his hold..... If he wanted to get away that badly, he could go over the rail and take his chances with the snakes and alligators.

 

"Fi..." he growled out a warning.

 

"Sam said to you, one day somebody would get in your way and you would have to decide how far you were willing to go. Well, I want to know how far you're willing to go for your cause. You know right now James is coming after us all and, when he finds us, he will want our blood. He is going to slaughter your mom, Charlie, he'll -"

 

"STOP! J- ju-just STOP!"

 

He pushed her away so hard she fell onto the rough unvarnished wooden deck. The distress in his voice was heartbreaking to hear, but she couldn't let him walk away. Scrabbling back to her feet, she brushed her hands down her clothes to remove the dirt and splinters while giving chase, following his path around the porch.

 

"What are ya gonna do, Michael? Will you stand and watch as he does it, the way you did when he murdered Ben Snyder? Or will you pull the trigger yourself this time? I mean you must hate us all, enough to risk having us all thrown in jail. You could say it would be a kindness to put us down like dogs."

 

He had been striding away from her, but now he was frozen in one spot. She could see the tremors running through his body and it was the scariest thing she had ever seen as, all of a sudden, he crumbled in front of her, falling to his knees and then shifting and shuffling until he could put his back against the wall of the house. Then, with his knees drawn up to his chest, he buried his head in hands.

 

The fiery Irishwoman had been ready for a full blown screaming and shouting, a stand up, knock down fight. The last thing she expected was to see the man she truly madly deeply loved... yes loved, she had been a fool to fight it... fall to the floor and shatter before her eyes.

 

"Michael?" She went to sit beside him and then stopped unsure what to do. This was just like when he had come back to them after James had interrogated him. When he had taken one look at her face and sobbed for over an hour, she had been at a loss then, too.

 

"You should all go..." he sniffed. "You should go, leave me... I'll – I'll think of something."

 

"No," she dropped down next to him, wrapping an arm around his hunched shoulders. "We'll think of something, and get it done it together."

oo0oo

So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down  
I'll never wear your broken crown  
I took the road and I fucked it all away  
Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace?

So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down  
I'll never wear your broken crown  
I can take the road and I can fuck it all away  
But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate


	3. Lover's Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lover's Eyes is another Mumford & Sons song which does not belong to me.

"Together."

The word held the promise of comfort and comfort was something the broken spy was desperately in need of as he buried his head further into his arms.

Instinctively, he leaned into the warmth and safety of his former lover's embrace. The touch of her arm tenderly supporting him opened another faint crack in the fragile shell enclosing his damaged soul.

"Yes… me, you, Sam and Jesse, we'll keep your Mom and Charlie safe while we figure out a way to get you clear of this mess you've made." The sting of her softly spoken words added to the turmoil swirling in his head, reminding him of what he had lost and what he had become.

"Shhh… we're no good at this..." The whispered sentiment floated back to him from long ago.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, the dark haired man uncurled. Shrugging off the shapely arm wrapped about his shoulders, he straightened out his long legs and let his head fall back against the wooden wall of the house... With everything that had happened in the last year, those five words seemed something of an understatement.

Staring out at the scattered forest of live oak trees with their ghostly tendrils of Spanish moss trailing down towards the murky brown-green waters of the Louisiana bayou, he took another deep breath and then let it out slowly and, in that moment, he let go of all his anger at what his friends had done to him.

He had no one to blame but himself. He had told Sonya that his friends had moved on without him. But, in truth, he had left them behind. Maybe not willingly, but nevertheless he had been the one who had disappeared.

"Michael?"

He could hear the concern in her tone, and it was nice. It was nice to know that she still cared enough to be concerned for his well-being. Swallowing thickly, he twisted around slightly so he could look into her eyes when he made his apology.

But words had failed him when he stared into his former lover's eyes. It was like he was looking back into the past. All the hurt his betrayal had caused glistened in her blue-green orbs just as it had all those years ago in Ireland when she had first discovered his name wasn't McBride. He knew for the ex-guerrilla fighter who had been raised to be fiercely loyal to those she loved, this second betrayal was far more despicable than the first.

His earlier deceit had been that of an enemy combatant spying on a foe. Deep down, it was something she had understood and, once the initial anger had passed, she had been able to forgive him, and move on. This time however he had done something much worse; he had lied and turned his back on his family, his friends and on her.

"Fi," he sighed. "I'm sorry."

He tried to smile, although his lips refused to cooperate, as he mistook her soulful look of compassion for one of pity. In the end, he turned away, his hands coming up to scrub away the moisture building in his eyes.

The auburn haired woman at his side reached over to capture one of his hands, entwining their fingers and bringing them down onto her lap. "So, you're finished with all that foolishness?"

"It's not that simp-" He stopped speaking as the tiny Irishwoman's short but very sharp fingernails curved and dug into the back of his hand in a warning.

"James wants us all dead, Michael. I don't think it gets any simpler than that. And unless you intend to stand by and let him do it, you're going to have to work with us."

"I have to-" The spy bit back on his words, swallowed and spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're right... I – I'll do what I can."

"Glad to see you've come to your senses." Her smile lit a small spark in his heart.

If he could make her happy, even for a short while, it was better than the hurt he had been causing her ever since Panama. He had been a naïve fool to think the CIA would have ever allowed him to walk away while they still had a use for him.

"Me too," he agreed as he managed to smile back.

They sat in silence on the old wooden porch, watching the slow moving river and listening to the sounds of the nature around them. The peace and tranquillity of the scene began to lull the operative's highly tuned senses. He had been running on empty for so long and now he had nothing left. He had missed this so much, to be able to sit comfortably with another person and not feel as though he had to be on guard in case he made even the smallest of slip ups.

His mind drifted, letting memories of his old life rise to the surface; memories he had all but extinguished because they interfered with his ability to focus on the mission: long hot sultry nights at the loft, sitting out on the balcony watching storm clouds pass over head, Fiona relaxing back against him, her feather light weight on his chest, her lips playing softly against his as they kissed under the moonlight.

He had wanted to forget those times. He was never going to have that life and thinking about what he had thrown away was just torturing himself, but the memories would not stop: the floral scent of the potpourri placed in small baskets about their home, the feel of eight hundred thread count sheets against his skin, waking up in the morning wrapped in the arms of a woman he loved and who had loved him back.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep, dreaming of those better days when he had seen a future for them together. Because when he next looked around, Fiona was standing by the door talking in muted tones to Sam Axe.

oo00oo

Well, love was kind for a time  
Now just aches and it makes me blind

This mirror holds my eyes too bright  
I can't see the others in my life

Were we too young? Our heads too strong?  
To bear the weight of these lover's eyes?  
'Cause I feel numb, beneath your tongue

Beneath the curse of these lover's eyes.

oo00oo

The three adults inside the house had listened in silence to the angry exchange taking place outside on the porch. It wasn't long before Madeline realized the effect the shouting was having on her grandson as tears filled the little boy's eyes and his bottom lip began to tremble.

"Are ya ready to do the same, Michael? Do we all need to sleep with one eye - No? Really? Tell me, please, what it is like then?"

She'd quickly gathered up her grandson in her arms and headed for the bedroom at the back of the house, hoping that the talk of what fate James might have planned for them all didn't get any louder.

Jesse edged closer to the door, where Sam stood with his head to the side, all the better for listening to the bitter words being exchanged outside.

"Do you think we should get out there before they killed each other?" the younger man murmured softly.

"No, not yet… Let's give Tinkerbell a chance. If anybody can get through to Mikey, I gotta believe she's the one to do it." The older man's body was still complaining after his own 'discussion' with his best friend. Sam was pretty sure the spy wouldn't take it very well if they all ganged up on him and besides the tiny ex-terrorist was perfectly capable of looking after herself.

As if to prove the former SEALs point, Michael's voice, full of anguish, ripped through the small house.

"STOP! J- ju-just STOP!"

Seconds later, there was a thud which sounded suspiciously like a body hitting the floor and then the patter of rapid footsteps moving away.

As Jesse reached for the door, determined to find out what was going on, Sam steadfastly blocked the younger man, holding up a hand in a gesture for him to wait.

"What are ya gonna do, Michael? Will ya stand and watch as he does it, the way you did when he murdered Ben Snyder? Or will you pull the trigger yourself this time? I mean, you hate us enough to risk having us all thrown in jail... You could say it would be a kindness to put us down like dogs."

Both men sighed with relief at the dulcet tones of Ms. Glenanne in full voice.

Jesse pursed his lips, his hand reaching for the door a second time. "I really think we should -"

"Maybe give 'em a while longer, huh, Jess?" Sam replied, as all went silent again.

He remembered that on more than a few occasions, before Michael's final confrontation with Olivia Riley, when his two best friends had still been a couple that blazing arguments had frequently ended up being settled in a more physical manner than was fitting to be seen by friends calling around unexpectedly for a beer and a chat.

The tall shaven headed man paused, clearly torn between wanting to check all was well outside and, having read his older friend's expression, not wanting to interfere in what was possibly a private moment taking place on the porch.

Finally he conceded. "We'll give them a few more minutes."

The creak of the front door opening, some fifteen minutes later, brought both men to where the woman in their thoughts stood framed in the entrance, looking exhausted and emotionally battered.

"Where's Mike?" Sam asked, peering over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the slumped figure further along the porch. "Please tell me you haven't killed him?"

"He's alive, just…" Fiona sighed. "I think I got through to him."

"You think?" Sam looked over her shoulder again to confirm Michael was indeed still breathing.

"He's fine, Sam. He's sleeping. He's exhausted."

"So, everything is okay now?" Jesse frowned. "Cuz less than an hour ago he seemed damn determined to get away." The young man gently touched the bridge of his very sore nose, wincing at the feel of swollen and bruised skin under his fingertips.

"He doesn't want to be James' pet CIA agent any more, if that's what you mean. But -" She shook her head sadly. "He's so beaten down, I don't think even he knows what he wants any more."

"Fi…?"

At the sound of Michael calling out, the conversation came to an end.

"I'm here, Michael," she called back, turning in time to see the spy slowly climb to his feet.

"We need him on our side, Fi." Sam lowered his voice to make sure his words didn't carry. "I'm pretty sure I covered our tracks. But if James does find us, I'd rather not be dealing with the ghosts in Mikey's head too."

"He just needs a bit of time, that's all... He's Michael. He'll be fine." She turned away from the older man to face the operative at the center of all their thoughts as he walked slowly, and by his expression reluctantly, towards them.

oo00oo

But do not ask the price I paid,  
I must live with my quiet rage,  
Tame the ghosts in my head,  
That run wild and wish me dead.

Should you shake my ash to the wind  
Lord, forget all of my sins  
Oh let me die where I lie  
Neath the curse of my lover's eyes.

'Cause there's no drink or drug I've tried  
To rid the curse of these lover's eyes  
And I feel numb, beneath your tongue  
Your strength just makes me feel less strong

oo00oo

As soon as he reached Fiona's side, Michael caught sight of the scabbed over gash on his best friend's forehead just below the hair line. He had been in pure survival mode when he had elbowed the man holding him captive. He was going to have to apologize.

He had been unable to see past his goal of taking over the organization, of molding it into his own vision of what was good and righteous, to listen to the words of somebody he perceived was working against him. From the moment he had figured out that the ex-SEAL was lying to him, his best friend had become the enemy and had been treated as such. The dark haired man ducked his head down, unable to meet Sam's steady gaze. He had treated one of the very few people who had stood by him like a hated foe.

The confused mind of the spy tried to justify his actions, prompting him to remember how his friends had conspired to kidnap him. However, that feeling of betrayal disappeared as fast as it had surfaced when another part of his brain pointed out how these people had thrown away their own lives in an effort to save him from himself. Fiona's hand closed about his, steadying him, reminding him he was no longer alone.

He took strength from Fiona's touch and raised his eyes to witness the damage he had done.

"I'm sorry, guys," Michael murmured, all the while wondering why the only two people who hadn't once questioned why he had taken the CIA deal were still standing there after the way he had treated them.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Mike, you were tricked into believing the words of a smooth talking evil genius. It could happen to the best of us."

"I'll think of this as pay back for shooting you... I always thought you held a grudge about that."

The spy smiled, genuinely moved by the words of the two men he had fought with so recently. He took a half step forward and then came to a stop as a large hand landed on his chest. Looking up, he found himself staring into Sam's brown eyes.

"Just tell me you've quit the whole idea of taking over James organization."

Michael nodded slowly. "I've quit, Sam. I'm sorry, I should have never -"

A well of emotion rose up, choking off his words. God, what he would have given for a drink, something strong to take away the guilt, the anger and a whole raft of other negative feelings.

"Well, that's okay then." The older man stood to one side to let him pass.

Back inside the house, Michael took his first proper look around, noting all the signs of neglect and decay. The place didn't look like it had been lived in for quite some time. Taking a seat at the table, the dark haired man pushed away Charlie's coloring book and crayons and rested his elbows on the flat surface.

"How did you come up with this place?"

"It belongs to a buddy," Sam answered, joining him at the table. "A guy I knew in West Germany. His father in law left him this place in his will. I met up with him a few times since I got to Miami. We spent quite a few weekends down here, fishing and hunting... I tell ya the locals make this great gumbo..."

The former SEAL checked himself, it was obvious from his taut features the tightly wound operative wasn't interested in hearing about the local cuisine.

"It's a safe place, Mikey, and unless James has been tailing us for the last three or four years, he can't know about it."

"And your friend, does he know we're here?" Michael knew how the terrorist organization worked. James had people who could find anybody. They would be checking out every single person who might offer them shelter. "And how about our transport? I know we didn't come all the way from Miami on an airboat."

"We brought you here on a seaplane I sorta borrowed from this guy staying at the Chadwick. He was gonna be in a meeting until four and we were long gone before he would have missed it. It's parked about a mile away, hidden outta sight and camouflaged... And my buddy, Ray, well, he's is on vacation somewhere in Eastern Europe, visiting all the places he only got to see on night missions last time he was there. We're safe for the time being."

The operative nodded and then looked at each of his three friends, his highly tuned paranoia screaming out a warning. He was half way out of his chair when he voiced his concerns. "Who's on guard? What –?"

"Hey, hey, take easy, it's all cool." Jesse gestured for the older man to sit back down. "Sammy here has it all in the bag... We hadn't been here more than five minutes before we had a welcoming committee. It was pretty hairy until a couple of the neighbors recognized Sam. If anybody comes around asking questions we'll know about it."

The dark haired spy reluctantly sunk back onto his chair. He had been alone for so long that it was hard to put his safety into the hands of others. But from the relaxed expressions worn by his friends, he had to accept that they trusted the locals to protect them.

With a long drawn out sigh, Michael began to wonder what else his friends had been up to. "So, what's the next step?"

"The plan…" Fiona explained, placing an opened yogurt cup before him along with a spoon and a bottle of water. "…Was to stop you turning into a monster. After that, we hadn't really come up with anything."

"You drag me - you ruin - how -?" Suddenly, he was so angry that he couldn't get the words to come out of his mouth. Taking several deep breaths, the haggard man forced the rage back down. He had driven them to this. He still didn't understand why they had done it; nevertheless it was up to him to fix it. "Tell me what you know. What happened to Sonya?"

"We knew you were out in the Everglades when I called you. So after we grabbed you, I sent Strong a text from your cell, saying you couldn't talk but he needed to get over to a large building seven miles inland from Pearl Bay... It was on the news this morning that the Feds had captured an international terrorist, Sonya Lebedenko, in a joint operation with the CIA... My guess is that Strong is trying to find his missing agent and James is -"

"James will have dropped out of sight. But he'll have his men hunting us down." Taking a mouthful of the creamy blueberry-flavored dessert, Michael tried to come up with a way to keep them all from ending up in jail or dead.

"Mikey, you need to talk to Strong. You can tell him you had to bug out cuz your cover was blown. If you tell him James had figured everything out... With Sonya in custody, won't that be enough to get us out of the CIA doghouse and some protection while they hunt James down?"

Michael dropped the spoon into the half full cup and stared at his best friend. The thought of going back to the CIA made him feel nauseous. He understood he was hated and despised for the killing of Tom Card and ruining the career of one of the most high profile female agents in the CIA. But what made him sick to the stomach was the complete lack of honor the Agency had displayed in using the likes of Simon Escher, the man who had done all the things that had been transferred to his own dossier to ruin his life.

He had done so many bad things throughout his career. He had done them for what he had believed were good reasons, because the Agency he trusted told him it was for the greater good... But if that Agency could free monsters to do their bidding, where was the integrity in that?

"Mike, do you have a problem with that, brother? Cuz it's the only play I can come up with." Sam pushed for answer.

The spy plastered a smile on his face. "Sure, Sam, I'll call Strong. But I'm gonna need a secure line, something James can't track."

"You think he has a line into the CIA?" Jesse asked. "Cuz if he has, we're definitely screwed."

"I don't know, Jesse. I wouldn't be surprised if he had. We can't be too careful... Besides, I don't want Strong to know where we are either, not until I'm sure there's a deal. I was told if I didn't hand over James Kendrick in forty eight hours, we were all going to prison. So I'm not counting on Strong coming through for us."

"Michael, you should speak to your mom. She was pretty upset earlier." Fiona changed the subject.

"My mom, where is she?" He looked around, as if noticing for the first time she wasn't there.

"Along the hall, she's sharing a room with Charlie. It's the last door on the right." The Irishwoman pointed to the door which led to the back of the building and the three bedrooms which made up the rest of the house.

With Michael on his way to check on his mother and nephew, the ex-terrorist joined the former SEAL and the private security consultant.

"So, that went well," Sam commented with a sigh. "I didn't expect Mikey to agree to everything just like that."

Fiona looked up at the older man, her expression showing exactly how foolish she thought his statement was. "You do know he was just telling you what you wanted to hear, right? He's up to something." She folded her arms over her chest and frowned. "I think he is going to try to go after James on his own."

"So, we're gonna have to put a leash on him then," Jesse concluded.

oo00oo

But do not ask the price I paid,  
I must live with my quiet rage,  
Tame the ghosts in my head,  
That run wild and wish me dead.  
Should you shake my ash to the wind  
Lord, forget all of my sins  
Or let me die where I lie  
Neath the curse of my lover's eyes.

And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow  
Take my hand, help me on my way.  
And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow  
Take my hand, I'll be on my way.

oo00oo

Michael slowed his pace as he reached the door. With his hand closed about the handle, he paused and closed his eyes. The thought of going back to the CIA filled him with dread; he had barely been able to contain his contempt the last time he had been in a meeting with Agent Strong and the Agency brass.

"'gain, Granma. 'gain,"

Charlie's gleeful shouts for his grandma to repeat whatever it was she had just done brought a bitter sweet smile to the spy's face. He would do it for his nephew. The boy had lost so much in his short life, he owed to Nate to do all he could to keep his son safe.

Stepping into the room, he was greeted by the sight of his Mom sitting on a double bed with Charlie seated right up next to her as she read from a large book with pop-up pictures. The image shocked Michael to the core; it was almost as if he had been transported back to his own childhood. Charlie's resemblance to Nate had been commented on by everybody who had known the younger Westen sibling; however, in the two weeks since he had last since his nephew, the similarity seemed stronger than ever.

"Look who it is, sweetheart…" Madeline's overly cheery tone sounded strained and forced to the only other adult in the room, but not to the little boy who was shuffling his way off the bed.

"Unca Mike!" Charlie yelled happily and jumped down off the bed to wrap his arms around his uncle's legs in a bear hug. "Read me a storwey?"

"Soon… er, I need to speak to your Grandma first, Okay?"

"I wanna go home... can we go?" The young child looked up expectantly.

The spy remembered the phone call Sonya had taken; the family home was gone. Fiona had burnt it to the ground and fire bombed the car belonging to James' surveillance team to stop them from giving chase.

How could he explain to Charlie that they could never go home? How could they run with a three year old, dragging him from place to place, never allowing him to make friends in case he said the wrong thing, waking him from his sleep to move on to a new location at a moments notice, having him grow up in fear of an invisible enemy who may slip into his room in the middle of the night?

He had held a gun to the head of a little girl not much older than Charlie following the orders of James' henchman, Burke. Would he have fired if told to? Would he have killed a child in order to save his friends from a life in prison?.........

"Do I have to remind you what's at stake? You do remember the deal? You do whatever you have to get the job done." Burke might have ordered him to kill a child, nonetheless in the background there was Strong's voice egging him on to do what was necessary... No wonder the man could free a monster like Simon.

"The men who killed your brother, they thought they were doing good too!" Sam's accusation added to the guilt the spy was feeling.

"Michael?"

The concern in his mother's voice and the tug on his sweat pants from tiny hands trying to encourage him over to the bed distracted his dark thoughts.

"Charlie, honey, why don't you go choose which story you want your uncle to read while we talk for a minute?"

As soon as the little boy was back on the bed struggling with the large book to get it on to his lap. Madeline turned back to her son. "What's going on, Michael? Have you sorted things out with Fiona – and Sam?"

"It's complicated," he answered automatically, using his standard to reply to any question about his relationships.

"Fiona came to the house, she told me – she told me some -"

"I'm fine, Mom, I – Fiona made me see sense. You all got to me in time... I'm gonna make this right, I promise." He reached out tentatively, cupping her shoulders.

"I know, honey. I was there, I heard." She smiled up at him, her hand gently rubbing up and down his arm.

He had expected recriminations, not kindness and understanding and it threw him off balance. "I heard about the house. I'm sorry, Fiona felt the need to… er, well, you know."

All through his childhood and through a good part of his adult life, he had thought he hated that house. A home was supposed to be a place of warmth, comfort and safety, yet for him it had been a war zone. By the time he was eleven, he had learned to cope with beatings, interrogations and some of the most vile food ever to land on a plate. By seventeen, on those first weeks in basic training, he had been one of only a few of the recruits who hadn't suffered any homesickness.

"It's just things, Michael... I'm finally learning that lesson. If I had burned the place down years ago, maybe we wouldn't all be here now." She took his hand and brushed it against her cheek before kissing his knuckles. "I want you to know I'm proud of you…You've always been here for us, you've always put your family first. I've been listening to your friends talk and we all have to take our portion of the blame for what's happened."

He couldn't take this right now. It would have been better if she had screamed at him. That he knew how to deal with. His blue eyes filled with moisture which he scrubbed away.

"It's okay.. I-I'm gonna make it right. I-I'm gonna call the CIA and explain." He half turned, intent on leaving the room before he broke down again, but his mother's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Michael, you need to rest and you promised Charlie a story." She gestured with a nod to where the boy sat, waiting patiently his big brown eyes fixed firmly on his closest male relative. "The CIA will still be there in a couple of hours."

"Mom..." The last thing he wanted to do was sit and read with the three year old.

"Please, Michael, for Charlie? He's been missing you so much. Just read to him while I go and make us all a drink."

The dark haired spy turned his eyes up to the ceiling, as if looking for strength.

"Fine, but I have to make that call today, as soon as possible. We need to know if the CIA is going to help us."

"One story and I'll be back before you know it... Maybe we can come with you when you make the call. It would do Charlie good to get some fresh air."

"Mom, it's not going to be - a school outing." The door shut behind the older woman before he had finished speaking. With a sigh, he turned to the dark haired child with the big brown eyes. "So, a story?"

Charlie shifted on the bed to make room for his uncle and pushed the book into his hands. "This one."

Michael looked down at the large printed script and the colorful pictures of an old king surrounded by laughing courtiers holding violins.

"It's not much of a story." He went to turn the pages, but a little hand stopped him from checking out the other nursery rhymes in the book.

"Cole."

" 'kay, I get the message, Cole it is."

Charlie clambered onto his lap and rested his head on his chest.

"So you ready now?... Old King Cole was a merry old soul. and a merry old soul was he. He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl. And he called for his fiddlers three. Every fiddler had a fine fiddle and a very fine fiddle had he; twiddle dum, twiddle dee, went the fiddlers three. Twiddle dum, dee dum twiddle dee. Twiddle dum, twiddle dee, went the fiddlers three."

Reaching the end, a demanding finger pointed to the picture of the king with his fiddler's three.

" 'gain, Unca Mike, 'gain."

Outside in the hallway, Madeline leaned back against the bedroom door, listening to her son recite the children's poem over and over again to his nephew. Tears welled up in the older woman's blue eyes as she thought about the childhood her own children were robbed of by their father and her own selfish actions.

Well, not any more…

She had been given a fresh chance with Charlie and she was determined to extend that chance to her remaining son.

oo00oo

And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow  
Take my hand, help me on my way.  
And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow  
Take my hand, I'll be on my way.

oo00oo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can go to Youtube and if you type in Jeffrey Donovan reciting Old King Cole, you can get to listen to him reading this nursery rhyme and imagine Michael Westen reading to Charlie.


	4. Frozen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Frozen by Within Temptation is written by Westerholt, David M Martin/ Wessels, Johanna Charlotte. This Fanfic has been written just for fun, none of the songs used belong to me.

"Here we go, brother. It's a burner, bought in Miami over a month ago with cash, so it's completely untraceable. Call Strong and let's hear what he has to say."

Michael stared down at the small cheap cell phone his best friend had just placed down before him..... This wasn't what he had expected. 

The dark haired spy looked up, letting his gaze linger on each of his friends in turn...... Nor was it how he wanted to make first contact with Agent Strong and the CIA.

"I thought it might be safer if I made the call once we're back in Miami." He sat back in his seat, hiding his frustration expertly behind a calm expression and an amiable smile.

"Well, we thought it might be best to test the water first. There's no point in going back if Strong and the CIA are just waiting for a chance to scoop us all up. If he seems friendly, then we can all go back together and make a deal." His former lover smiled encouragingly, uncrossed her arms which had been folded over her chest and gave the phone a gentle nudge closer to his hand.

The spy paused, his mind quickly running through his choices, and when he realized they hadn't left him any, he reached for the cell.

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed smoothly as he keyed in the digits to connect with his CIA contact's personal phone before adding. "Of course, if something has gone wrong, we won't have long before they start a trace."

"It'll be fine, Mikey," Sam replied with his calm, reassuring baritone.

"Yeah?" Agent Strong voice came through the phone's loud speaker, filling the small cabin with his harried tone.

Michael swallowed down his distaste and answered. "It's me."

"Westen! I was wondering if you were gonna call."

Michael could imagine the agent signalling for a trace to be started and began his own internal countdown. He had less than sixty seconds to find out how bad things were. A quick glance at his friends told him they were all thinking the same thing.

"I – my cover was blown. I had –"

"Don't bother with the excuses, Michael. Do you have any idea what you've done? You promised the Director of Clandestine Services you would bring in Kendrick and his whole network and you failed... After I received your message, we assaulted that compound and do you know what happened?... I lost six men, even more wounded and all we got in return were a few of James' soldiers who aren't talking and Sonya Lebedenko, shot up so badly that she's on life support and as such she's useless to us."

Michael let his head drop down; a wave of sadness for a fallen comrade descended over him. He remembered how the blond haired young woman had told him once before that, after spending time as a prisoner of the Russian GRU, she had no intention of ever being taken captive again. He could only imagine how hard she must have fought right up until the end.

"Strong, this is all on me, my friends have nothing to do with this. Leave them –"

"Leave them out of it? I'm not exactly sure what's going on, but I'm pretty sure whatever it is, your friends are right slap bang in the middle of it. Glenanne extracted your mother from under the noses of Kendrick's men and then an hour later you went dark, and we lost our target. Do I need to spell it out for you, Michael? The entire operation is over and, as I stood up for you, my career is over too."

The older man's anger was palpable, leaving Michael desperately trying calm his agency contact down enough to listen to reason. "I'll come in. I'll –"

"You still don't get it, do you? Save your breath. The CIA is fresh out of deals for Michael Westen. You think it was tough being burned? You haven't seen anything yet. You are all going away for a –"

Michael ended the call abruptly, before pulling out the SIM card and the battery just to be sure. Tossing the dismantled phone aside, he dropped his head into his hands.

"Well, that went a helluva lot worse than I expected." Sam slumped back defeated in his chair.

"I'll talk to James. Maybe I –"

"No!" Fiona slapped her hand down fiercely on the table. "You're not going anywhere near that monster."

"We can't fight a war on two fronts, Fi," The dark haired spy explained softly. "James can't know for sure that I betrayed him. If I can talk to him, convince him I… killed you and got away."

She shook her head her eyes, filling with tears. But it was Sam who answered.

"That's not going to happen, brother. Think of something else, something that doesn't involve you stepping into the lion's den. Or the rest of us having to you know die, cuz you can be damn sure Kendrick will want to see our bullet ridden corpses."

Michael sat back in his chair, deep in thought. Things were even worse than he had first suspected. Now, more than ever, he needed to get away from these people and do some damage control.

James wouldn't leave Miami until he had either rescued Sonya or had taken his revenge for the young woman's capture. Thinking about the blond, of the last time he had seen her, reminded him of something she had said just before the call to tell them Fiona had attacked the men guarding his mother. He sat forward, eager to share.

"I don't care what Strong said about the mission being over. The CIA still wants James and his network. If I can give them that, it should be enough to get them to back off. Sonya mentioned a satellite expert in Miami. He was making a communication center for James. If I can find him and get the location, I could use that to make a trade with Strong. You guys lay low. I'll –,"

"Ah-huh, fella, if you think we're just gonna hide in a hole somewhere while you go off alone, you can forget it. It's not gonna happen."

"It's my decision." The coldness flowing through his veins iced over completely. He would tolerate no more interference with his plans.

"Hey, Mike, enough already, we're in this, together, remember? You're in no position to do this by yourself," Jesse joined in the argument.

"I can –"

"Did you forget that going off on your own, making deals for us without us is how we got here?" Fiona cut in low and quiet, but the venom in her voice was unmistakable.

Michael's words dried up on his lips. That had always been the problem. He saw that now. Every time he allowed himself to get close to somebody, they ended up involved in his life and nobody got involved in his life without getting hurt. That's how it was and that's how it would always be.

"Hey, listen, there's a communications guy I used to work with. I trust him. If I can get to talk to him, maybe he can help us find James' guy."

Jesse's interjection broke through the former couple's staring competition. Dropping his gaze first, Michael turned all his attention on to the younger man. For several seconds, there was silence as they all waited for the disgraced spy's response.

"Fine..." Michael forced his muscles to relax and barred his teeth in a toothy smile...... Now was not the time to argue. "We'll all go back and talk to this friend of Jesse's." He would let them help him in the search for James' satellite expert and then – he looked from face to face – then he was gone.

ooo()()ooo

I can't feel my senses  
I just feel the cold

ooo()()ooo

"What do you mean, you're going back to Miami?" Madeline didn't bother to hide her fear as she stared at her only living son. "I thought we had left there for good."

"I… we have to go back there, just for a little while. The CIA is hunting us and it's my fault. I messed up, but I'm going to put it right, I promise. If I give them James, there's a good chance they'll leave us alone."

The older woman was shaking her head in denial, her bright blue eyes flickering nervously to where Charlie slept on the bed. "I met that man, Michael. It's too dangerous." She reached up, one hand tenderly cupping her son's stubble covered cheek. "I know what his men are capable of, I - I don't want to lose my only son."

Staring into his mother's moisture filled blue eyes, he very nearly broke. They could run. It would be hard and it would never stop, but they could do it. His sharp mind began to plan their escape out of the country, working out the logistics necessary for them all to remain hidden from the multitude of enemies who would be coming after them. They would have to leave the country, somewhere without an extradition treaty with the US, and somewhere so remote that it was out of the reach of James' network.

What about him? You want Charlie celebrating his 8th birthday in a hut in Nicaragua?........  
His own words, spoken to his ex-fiancée what felt like decades ago about another boy named Charlie, came back to haunt him and he let his gaze stray to the small shape wrapped up under a comforter on the bed and all thoughts of them fleeing to some desert island or a mountain retreat were wiped from his mind. He could not do that to Nate's son. He had dragged his brother into his dangerous world and he had gotten the boy's father killed. There was no way he was going to do the same thing to a defenseless child...... This was his sacrifice to make.

"Mom, I don't want to do this but sometimes, sometimes..." He sighed, trying to think of a way to make her understand. "You remember me saying that sometimes it's about the math? Well, this is one of those situations. If I can give the CIA what they want, we can all get our lives back."

"And if James kills you? Or the CIA won't let you go?"

This was becoming too painful. Madeline's son turned away from the woman who had brought him into the world. "You'll still be free. You'll take Charlie and hide out. Bring him up in some –"

"No, I won't let you." The older woman caught hold of her son's arm and pulled him back around to face her. The fear was gone from her eyes replaced by steely determination. "We'll find another way... Sam or Fiona... One of their friends can take us –"

"Mom…" He took hold of her arms, gripping her biceps tight enough to make the older woman wince. "Mom, I've made up my mind. You and Charlie are going to stay here. I'm going to get Fi to stay with you. In a -" he shook her when she tried to pull away and then leaned in close so he could look into her eyes. "In a few days, I want you to head for New Orleans and get on a bus going to Georgia. Go – I can't believe I'm about to say this– go stay with dad's family."

"You want me to take Charlie and go stay with that side of the family?!"

"Mom, please," he begged. "I need to know you're safe. That you are both safe," he added with a nod to the small figure on the bed.

"Alright, it's alright, honey. I'll do it. You know I haven't spoken to any of Frank's relatives since his funeral?"

Michael let go of a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. "I know, Mom, you told me. That's what makes going to stay with them now the safest option."

"They were drunk before the service and the fighting…" She closed her eyes and shuddered to make her point.

"I know, Mom. You've told me several times." The spy rolled his eyes and let go of his mother's arms.

"So long as you understand what you're asking me to do is very upsetting."

"I understand, Mom."

She had agreed. That was all that mattered....... Completely back in spy mode, Michael was already moving on to the next obstacle in his strategy to end the multitude of threats.

"Good... Now, you can do something for me," she requested.

"Sure…" Even as he spoke, her son knew he had slipped up.

"Take Fiona with you. I don't need a baby sitter. I've driven one of those airboats before. Me and Charlie can see you all off at the plane and then come back here."

"I –"

"You need all the help you can get. You just have to do the math," the blonde countered as she threw his own words back at him. "If you have Fiona with you, you all stand a better chance of coming back."

He could fight with her some more, but Michael knew deep down there was no point. So, he nodded his assent. "Fine, we're going to finish packing up and then leave at first light tomorrow."

Madeline sniffed and wiped a hand over her eyes. "So, plenty of time for goodbyes then…"

ooo()()ooo

All colors seem to fade away  
I can't reach my soul

ooo()()ooo

In the end, Mrs. Westen was proven wrong. The remaining hours in the run down cabin went by far quicker than anybody other than the stoic, dark haired spy wanted. By the time the weaponry Fiona had brought with them had been double checked and repacked and two bricks of C-4 had been cut into smaller blocks and prepared for instant use, the sun was already peeking up over the horizon.

With Charlie wrapped up warmly and still sleepy, cradled in his Uncle Mike's arms, they had all climbed on board the air boat and Sam had navigated the way through the slow moving muddy colored waters to where the seaplane was hidden under a large camouflage netting amongst a cluster of live oak trees.

In next to no time at all, Michael was sitting behind the pilot's chair, staring out of the window at a small craft skimming over the bayou waters far below them. His mother would be fine; he was sure of it. She had always been a survivor and far tougher than she let on. He had made sure she was armed and had been left with all their spare cash. His only worry was it wouldn't be enough to get her to Atlanta and into the relative safety of Frank Westen's kin.

"Your mom will be fine." A small shapely hand landed gently on top of his and Michael turned his head to stare into the blue-green the eyes of the auburn haired woman sitting beside him. "The last year, having Charlie, it changed her. Did you know she took on a mob loan shark? Chased him all the way out of Miami with his tail between his legs... She even blackmailed him into paying into the Charlie Westen College Fund."

"I didn't know that. How -?" Ever since he had returned to Miami, the disenchanted spy had to constantly remind himself how much his friends and family had moved on with their lives while he was gone......... So why did he let it bother him so much? It's was what he had wanted. No, not what he wanted; it had been a necessity. Strong had been right to isolate him. He should've never insisted in bringing in Sam and Jesse to help with Burke. Because once the CIA had seen how useful his friends were to the mission, he had sealed all their fates.

"Oh, I provided a little tactical back-up, but your mom did all the hard work." The former guerilla added with pride. "She could have had a brilliant career in blackmail and extortion if she'd been given the opportunity."

"And why was a mob loan shark –?" But he knew the answer before he had even finished asking the question...... Of course, it was fallout from his brother's car crash lifestyle and sudden death. "Nate – Nate had started gambling again."

"And worse," Fiona didn't need to say any more. "This particular rodent had apparently gone after Ruth, and she'd paid up. I wonder if that was the reason she didn't fight your mom's custody case."

"And then I come back and loan sharks are the least of all your problems." The disavowed spy slid his arm out from under his former lover's hand and looked away.

"Michael, stop beating yourself up, you weren't given a choice, I see that now."

Oh, she saw that, now....... He swallowed back the bitter angry words which longed to come out. They only had a few days left until he found out the identity of James' satellite expert. Then he would be gone and, if things went the way he hoped, his mother, Charlie, all of them would be able to get back their lives.

"Michael?"

"I'm gonna catch up on some sleep," he answered without opening his eyes. "You should, too."

ooo()()ooo

I would stop running, if knew there was a chance  
It tears me apart to sacrifice it all, but I'm forced to let go

ooo()()ooo

Fiona stared at the man she loved, studying him closely while he pretended to sleep. Outwardly, he looked to be the same man he had always been. A little rougher around the edges maybe, his dark hair a little more mussed up than he liked to wear it and the sweat pants and T-shirt would have only seen the light of day during a gym session. But all those things were just cosmetic; whatever had her spidey senses tingling went a lot deeper than the mere superficial.

There was no doubt in her mind that the disgraced spy was playing game, but the reason why eluded her. It was obvious to her that he was just letting them think they had talked him into doing things their way. Just like he hadn't uttered a word when Sam had sat down in the pilot's chair and Jesse had joined the older man up front taking the co-pilot's position. Accepting the role of a passenger without seeming to care just wasn't the Michael Westen she knew.

The Irishwoman reached out tentatively to touch his arm and then drew back, remembering how their last confrontation had ended with his emotional breakdown...... Maybe that was all that was wrong with him, she assumed, maybe now he finally understood what he meant to them all.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it wasn't true. Her weary lover was the first to put everyone else before himself. Mr. Westen had apparently been taught that his entire life and he never could seem to understand that he was important to people that loved him and wanted him around. The whole concept just seemed to elude the dark haired man sitting next to her. Settling back in her seat, she stared past the supposedly sleeping spy to admire the clear blue of the sky outside the window....... Maybe Michael was just tired of all the running and fighting and was trying to act like a normal human being.

The first part she believed sincerely, but Fiona was having a hard time getting herself to buy the second half. She held a brief image of Michael lifting his nephew into his arms, holding the small child to his chest as they had filed out of the cabin and climbed onto the air boat. She also remembered the tender kiss he had placed on the top Charlie's head before he had wordlessly handed the boy over to Madeline. Something about that precise moment had set the alarm bells ringing in her head...... It was as if he was saying goodbye.

The thought had the tiny redhead shifting in her seat, intent on passing on her theories to the two men in front of her.

"Hey, park it, sister," Sam called over his shoulder. "We're coming into land. Wake Mikey up cuz once we're down, we're gonna need to get moving."

Climbing out of the plane which bobbed lazily on the shallow water next to a run-down wooden jetty, Fiona looked around at the vast overgrown wilderness. Picking up the canvas bag holding a large quantity of weapons, she followed the dark haired spy on to a narrow trail which appeared to be the only way out of the swampland.

"Well, this is nice," she quipped brightly, flicking a hungry mosquito off her arm.

"I tell ya, me finding this little dock was a piece of luck. Especially since I spotted what looked like a Visitors' Center a couple of miles that-a-way." With a wave of his hand, the former SEAL pointed vaguely in a northerly direction "We should be able to pick up a vehicle there and be back in Miami by nightfall."

"A couple of miles in this heat," Michael huffed. Shouldering his back pack, their leader set off at a fast march "That's great, Sam."

"Hey, a little bit of gratitude fella, would ya rather I'd landed this bird back on South Beach? I mean, it's not like we're being chased down by the CIA and a bloodthirsty megalomaniac, is it?"

Traveling at the blistering pace set by the stoic spy, the two mile walk didn't take long. The narrow path soon opened up on to a wider, official looking walking trail and from there they quickly came across a small parking lot only guarded by an unmanned information booth.

Fiona eyed up the cars, automatically dismissing the newer models as too hard to break into without the right tools.

"Keep a look out." Michael gave the order and then, before she had a chance to reply, he dropped his bag and picked up one of the larger stones which were scattered on the hard packed dirt.

"Michael! Wait," Fiona hissed chasing after the dark haired operative. But she was too late as the sound of breaking glass disturbed the peace and quiet of the backwoods.

"There was no need for that. You could have picked the lock," she accused, grabbing hold of his arm as he reached inside the shattered window to open the door.

"There's no time." He broke free of her grip and, with the door open, leaned inside the large SUV to clear the glass from the seat. "We have to act now before we lose our advantage."

"We need to slow down. You need to slow down. Do you want to get us picked up because you can't take a couple of extra seconds necessary to pick a lock?"

He shot her look filled with barely contained anger. "It's done. Let's just get going."

"C'mon, Fi," Jesse climbed into the back and began throwing the bags into the trunk space. "We've gotta couple of hours to work out the rest of the plan. I, for one, will be happy to quit being the main course at this bug buffet." To make his point, the younger man brought the flat of his hand down on the back of his neck.

Within minutes they were off, traveling along the Tamiami Trail heading eastwards towards Miami with Michael behind the wheel, Fiona in the front passenger seat and the two men in the back.

"So where do we find your friend with the inside track on satellite experts?" Michael asked.

Jesse looked ahead, using the rear view mirror to make eye contact with the older man sitting up front driving their "borrowed" Jeep Cherokee.

"Ray works for a media company just off Biscayne Avenue –"

"Biscayne it is then." The Jeep lurched forward, rapidly gaining speed, while the occupants inside began to discuss the details of who was going to do what once they reached their destination.

And the more they talked, the more Fiona's concerns began to grow as Michael refused to be drawn into how exactly they were going to use the location of James' communication center to free them from the CIA threat of a life time in prison or how their knowing where James' communication center was set up would make the smooth talking terrorist back off and leave them in peace.

ooo()()ooo

Tell me I'm frozen but what can I do?  
Can't tell the reasons, I did it for you

ooo()()ooo

It only took slightly over an hour for the team to reach the outskirts of Miami. Abandoning the Jeep in the large parking lot in front of the Dolphin Mall, they exchanged it for an older model Ford extended cab pick-up before continuing on their way into the city and over to one of their old rally spots which they hoped had remained a secret.

"Do you remember the last time we were here?" Fiona asked as she and Michael broke the rusted chain holding the doors of the derelict building closed, which ten years earlier had been a thriving auto business.

"The night before Vaughan came after us," Michael answered without a pause.

He had told her before he remembered everything she had ever told him and all the things they had done to together and it was the truth. Late at night, or during the quiet times, especially in the last year, those memories were what had kept him going.

Slipping inside with their guns drawn, the couple swept the interior, making sure that in the passing years nobody else had been using their fall back spot as a home or a hideout.

"Yes, Vaughan and that damned thumb drive you were ready to blow yourself up to protect."

Her biting tone made the spy stop in his tracks and turn to face her. The sweep was a waste of time; one look at the dust covered floor and work benches told him nobody had been in the place for years.

"Fi, I -"

"Ooh, I know, Michael. The NOC list was important, a matter of national security and chasing down the people who burned you, you had to see it through to the end."

"Fiona…" He didn't want to do this, not again.

His eyes flickered upwards to the small office where they had spent that night together, wondering if it was going to be their last. Wrapped in each other's arms, their bodies joined together as they had silently made love for what they had suspected was going to be for the last time.

"I just want to know, was it worth it? Everything we've done, we've been through in the last seven years, d'ya think it was worth it?"

Did he think – his mind reeled over the heartache, the lives ruined and the deaths….. Would he do it all again? Knowing what he knew now?

He half smiled and shook his head. "It's too late to go back, Fi," he answered softly.

"That's not what I asked." The tiny Irishwoman put her gun away and began to open the doors wider, so Sam could drive the truck inside. "I want to know if you believe it has all been worthwhile?"

"What do you want me to say? Would I change the way I did things? Yes, definitely, but bringing down Management and Anson, exposing their network… It had to be done, they were dangerous and a threat –" his words dried up as the pick-up truck came to a stop.

This was not a discussion he wanted to continue in front of the rest of his friends and, from the way his former lover was angrily securing the doors, now that she had once again rammed home her point, she didn't want to carry on the conversation either.

ooo()()ooo

When lies turn into truth, I sacrificed for you  
You say that I'm frozen but what can I do?

ooo()()ooo

Jesse Porter shook the hand of his friend and business associate Ray Coltrane, and ran back towards where he had left Michael waiting in the Ford pick-up on a nearby side street. As he neared the vehicle, he slowed his pace as his thoughts turned from the thin folder he carried in his hand to the man staring out at him impatiently from the truck.

Mr Porter wasn't a fool and, though he hadn't known the damaged spy for as long as Sam and Fiona, it was plain to him that their mutual friend's mind was still stuck in the same dark place they had tried to rescue him from a few days earlier.

He knew the others had noticed it too. Fiona had been watching her ex-boyfriend as if she was waiting for him to disappear on her yet again and Sam, though hiding his feelings a bit better, couldn't completely mask his sadness and concern for his best friend's sanity. The realization that Michael Westen had become a traitor to his country had hit them all hard, but Jesse suspected it had hit the former SEAL hardest of all.

"How did you do?" Michael stuck his head out of the driver's side window. "Did you get a name?"

"Patience, dude," the younger man called back, quickening his step and pushing away all his doubts about his friend's currently loyalties. "Seriously, you're worse than Charlie when there's a chance of a strawberry cone coming his way."

Going around the truck, Jesse climbed into the passenger seat and took a couple of seconds to get comfortable and then opened up the file he had brought with him. "It took a bit of persuading, but my buddy came through in the end. He snuck me into the research office and we checked out all the top satellite guys in Miami and I think we hit the jackpot. Max Lister, contracts to the NSA mostly, but get this, a few months ago he took a leave from his firm to work on a special project and nobody knows what it was." He handed the older man the file to look through the rest of the details.

"James' communication center?" Michael asked as he quickly skimmed over the details of their target.

"Time frame fits perfectly. He's our guy, I'm sure of it. That's the good news. The bad news is the guy is a security nut. He lives in a gated community in the Gables and does most of his consulting out at a naval base in the Everglades."

Jesse waited as the older man scowled, his eyes closing just for a second.

"We'll hit him in transit," Michael finally answered.

"My thoughts exactly," the shaven headed man agreed, glad that it seemed they were still on the same page. "I took the liberty and called Sam and Fiona. They're already on it; they're getting supplies we need as we speak."

Michael nodded thoughtfully, a toothy smile growing as he handed the file back to his younger friend. Reaching under the steering column, Michael twisted the wires from the broken ignition together and started up the engine.

"This is great. We do this right and it'll all be over by tomorrow night."

ooo()()ooo

I can feel your sorrow  
You won't forgive me,

ooo()()ooo

The plan they came up with was straightforward and simple. In the hours before dawn, Fiona and Michael took up position in the pick-up to watch the security gates protecting the homes where the satellite expert lived. Meanwhile, Sam and Jesse were getting set up out in the Everglades with spike strips to bring Mr. Lister's vehicle safely to a stop and shotguns to encourage the man to surrender and come along peacefully.

As soon as the satellite expert left for work, Fiona and Michael would tail him, keeping as far back as they could so as not to be detected and, at the same time, provide a running commentary for the two men waiting to spring the trap.

In the dim pre-dawn light, Michael Westen sat behind the wheel of the pick-up staring out of the side window in an effort to ignore the tiny auburn haired woman fidgeting in the passenger seat beside him.

Their plan was tactically sound, a tried and tested strategy used by extraction teams throughout the world. From what they had gleaned about Max Lister, he was just an incredibly smart technician. He had no military training and had never been in any trouble with the law.

Easy peasy, as Sam had put it.

But it wasn't how the troubled spy wanted to play things and the frustration of yet again following somebody else's orders had Michael thinking about what he had lost.

He had disappointed them all. They no longer trusted him and who could blame them? It surprised him that they had even bothered to try and rescue him from himself in the first place... 

He sighed heavily, and rested his forehead against the cold glass......... He was a traitor to his country. He'd betrayed everything he believed in and he had done it all because he got lost in his cover. Even now he could still feel the pull of James Kendrick's logic. It was there, nagging in the back of his mind. He could have had a whole organization doing what he wanted.

They should have left him behind.

"Michael, I think we should use this time to talk."

This was why she had suggested they took this part of the job; she had him trapped in a small place with nowhere to run and no room to manoeuvre …

He blinked, half turned just long enough to briefly make eye contact with his former lover.

"Not now, Fi."

"I know you're upset. But Madeline is going to be fine."

"I'm sure you're right," he answered coolly and returned to surveying the empty street on the other side of the glass.

The spy wasn't going to be drawn into another useless discussion. Only a few hours earlier, his request that Jesse return to the cabin watch over his mother had been vetoed by Sam and Fiona, before the shaven headed former CIFA agent even had a chance to respond...........  
They had been leaning over a work bench in the derelict garage, studying a large road map of Southern Florida while Sam had laid out the route most likely to be used by their target and marked up the best ambush spots for their scheme to work.

"This looks like an easy snatch and grab. I've pulled off harder jobs all by myself," Fiona had airily proclaimed as they had finished working out the finer details of the ambush.

"Guys, it's so easy that I was hoping Jesse could go back to look after my mom." He'd held up his hand to stop the younger man's protests."She's all alone there with Charlie, and -" He'd turned to Jesse to make a direct appeal. "You were raised in Atlanta. You know your way around. That makes you the best one to get her over to my uncle's place outside the city."

"There's no need for that, Mike," Sam had replied evenly. "I knew you'd be worried about your mom and Charlie out there on their own, so I gave Jacques, that's the guy who headed our welcoming party, a call and he said there was no problem watching out for Maddy. In fact, he said his wife goes into New Orleans once a week to check on her mama, so your mom could travel in with them."

He remembered how he had gritted his teeth to stop the words which had wanted to come out of his mouth and instead had forced a smile. "I'd still feel happier if Jesse was there, you know, somebody I trust in case James or the CIA -"

"James isn't going to be looking for your mom," Fiona had chimed in. "And nobody is going to take any notice of a grandma and her grandson getting on a bus. We need Jesse here, helping us."

"Michael, this Lister person doesn't start work until eight. We have at least an hour until he comes through that gate." She gestured with a nod of her head towards a set of wrought iron gates which marked the entry to an upscale and highly security conscious neighborhood.

With a sigh, he finally faced her, twisting around awkwardly in the seat so he could look her straight in the eye. "We should concentrate on the job. Max could come out at any time. How about we save that talk 'til later?"

There was really nothing left to say.

"No, I want to know what's going on in your head."

The look in her eyes and the anxiety clearly showing in her expression almost broke through his defences, but not enough to sway him from his task.

"I know you're still hurting, it's written all over your face," she added, lifting a hand towards his cheek.

"I said I'm fine. Just drop it, please." The words came out in little more than a whisper........ He was doing this for her, for all of them. Why did she have to make things so damn difficult?

"You're feeling guilty. You fell for James' lies. It's – "

"I said leave it, Fiona." He was not, could not do this now, not stuck in a small cab with her. He felt hot, breathless and with an undeniable urge to getaway.

He turned away, his hand fumbling with the door handle and then he stumbled out of the pick-up and on to the street. He was not going to explain himself any more. Blocking out all thoughts of his former team, the disgraced spy turned all his attention to the security gate and the high walls which were keeping him from his target.

As he marched away, the sound of the other door on the truck slamming shut and the light muffled pad of booted feet coming after him barely registered. He was too busy looking for a spot where to breach the perimeter of the gated community.

He came to a stop when a small but power packed fist hit him squarely between his shoulder blades.

"You screwed up and you feel bad. I get it, we all get it. But d'ya really think getting yourself killed is the answer?"

"I'm not -" He spoke as he turned and received another blow, this one to the side of his jaw.

"Shut up, I'm talking now." The Irishwoman grabbed hold of the front of his T-shirt and pushed him back against the wall. After taking a quick look to make sure nobody had noticed them, she then turned all her attention onto the man who stared back at her with cold blue eyes.

"When are you going to get it through your thick head that you matter?" she demanded angrily.

And when he opened his mouth to speak, he received a sharp jab to his stomach.

"I don't mean in some stupid operational, tactical sense. But you… You… Matter… To all of us, your friends and family…" She punctuated her words with more digs to his abdomen until he caught hold of her hand in his fist.

"I'm doing this for you..." He sighed and released his grip. Running his hand over his head, he went to walk away but stopped when he realized she wasn't going to let him go. "So, you don't have to risk your lives... I can do this by myself."

He watched warily, waiting for another blow or kick but instead she frowned and tenderly cupped his cheek, keeping her palm resting against his skin even when he attempted to flinch away.

"I forgot how dense you can be where relationships are concerned. Let me make this as simple as I can. You matter to your mom, though I admit at times she does a crappy job of showing it, but that's your mom. You matter to Charlie. You're the only man left in his life. Are you going to let him lose his father and his uncle? You matter to Jesse and to Sam. I shouldn't have to tell you this. They're your brothers, they're your family. They stood behind you even when..." She paused and bit her lip momentarily. "You owe them better than this."

He was losing himself in her words and in the stormy depths of her blue-green eyes. It would be so easy to fall back into relying on them all to help him out. It was that same feeling which had made him offer up Sam and Jesse's services to Burke and had later made him call his former lover and plead for her assistance.

"Fi," he smiled sadly, thinking of what could have been. "There's only one way out – "

She stopped his words with one finger over his lips.

"And I know I haven't been as supportive as I could have been, but you matter to me," she whispered and then took a deep breath, blowing it out on a sigh. "You matter more to me than my own life. If you need me to be alive and safe, why can't you understand that I feel the same way about you?... No matter what's happened between us." Another pause and another sigh... "You've left me so many times; you'd think I'd be over you by now. But I'm not and I'm never going to be. So please stop... stop running away from me and stop... Just stop."

ooo()()ooo

But I know you'll be all right  
It tears me apart that you will never know, but I have to let go

ooo()()ooo

He leaned in, his arms moving of their own accord, one slipping around her shoulders and then other about her waist, drawing her against his body as his lips pressed firmly over her mouth.

Michael poured all his remaining love into that deep passionate kiss. When they finally broke apart, he stared at her with adoration, his blue eyes filled with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed and, with a heart wrenching moan, pushed her away and ran off, taking a leap to grab hold of the top of the wall and he was gone.

"Michael!" She couldn't believe what he had done.

Staring hopelessly at the ten foot high wall, Fiona realized there was no way she could follow him over unseen or unheard. Swiping away the tears of frustration that ran down her cheeks, the Irishwoman pulled out her cell phone, her hand shaking as she put in the call.

"Hey, Fi..." Sam's voice came through the ear piece.

"He's given me the slip," she gasped.

"What? How?"

"We were talking and then he was gone. He's gone over the fence. He's going after Lister on his own."

"Damn it, Fi, you had one job to do."

"Well, I messed it up, are you happy now, Sam? Just get back here. I can't watch the whole perimeter by myself."

Inside the gated community, a disgraced and guilt ridden spy moved swiftly and silently amongst the condos and houses until he found the one he was looking for. Inside was the man key to his plan to free his friends and end his near unbearable pain.

The lock on the garage took him less than thirty seconds and the alarm inside less than twenty.

Now he just had to wait.

ooo()()ooo

Tell me I'm frozen but what can I do?  
Can't tell the reasons I did it for you  
When lies turn into truth, I sacrificed for you  
You say that I'm frozen, but what can I do?  
Everything will slip way  
Shattered peaces will remain  
When memories fade into emptiness  
Only time will tell its tale  
If it all has been in vain  
I can't feel my senses  
I just feel the cold  
Frozen...  
But what can I do?  
Frozen...  
Tell me I'm frozen but what can I do?  
Can't tell the reasons I did it for you  
When lies turn into truth I sacrificed for you  
You say that I'm frozen  
Frozen...


	5. The Parting Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Parting Glass is an old Irish/Scottish song dating back to the 1600s. The version used in this chapter has the lyrics as sung by Ed Sheeran. If there is a copyright on this version of this ancient air, no infringement is intended.

"Hey, Fi..."

When Sam answered the call, he had been walking along the edge of a little used back road deep in the Everglades, which they were planning to divert their target onto, looking for the best spot to lay in wait with the spike strip they had brought with them to bring Mr. Satellite Guy's car to a stop.

"He's given me the slip,"

"What?" The ex-SEAL came to an abrupt halt. In his mind, he could visualize their nice and simple plan beginning to unravel. "How?"

"We were talking and then he was gone. He took off over the fence. He's going after Lister on his own."

"Damn it, Fi, you had one job to do." He had been convinced that if anybody could keep his best friend in line, it was the tiny Irishwoman. But it seemed that he was wrong and now there was a rogue spy on the loose and, in Mike's current state of mind, there was no telling how bad things were going to get.

"Well, I messed it up. Are you happy now, Sam? Just get back here. I can't watch the whole perimeter by myself."

He winced at the anger Fiona managed to convey through the phone's earpiece. "Fi, Fiona! Damn it. Don't do anything stupid." But his words were wasted on fresh air as she'd already ended the call.

Looking along the road, the former naval commando could see Jesse up ahead, setting up a spot where he would be able to get a good shot at their target's vehicle if Max Lister would somehow manage to miss the spike strip.

"Jesse! Hey, Jess!" he called out, waving a hand above his head to attract the attention of the younger man. "We've gotta a problem!"

Minutes later, they were driving back towards Coral Gables with Jesse behind the wheel of the late model Chevy Tahoe they had acquired the night before from a downtown parking garage.

"You know she's not just gonna wait for us," the shaven headed man spoke without taking his eyes off the road. Driving the SUV close to a speed he normally reserved for when he was out playing in his Porsche, he needed to keep all his attention on the road ahead.

"I should have made you and Fi go after Lister. But after what happened on the bridge, I wasn't feeling up to going another round with Michael Westen. I thought she'd be able to handle him."

"No good beating yourself up about it now, dude. I mean, when hasn't Fi been able to keep Mike in line."

"Yeah, well, Mikey isn't exactly acting like himself lately. But I thought -" Sam let his words dry up as he began to think about what his best friend might be planning on his own.

The past SEAL and career military man could guess how his friend felt. He remembered his own anger and disbelief when he realized that a man he thought of as a brother was not only sympathizing with what amounted to a terrorist organization, but he had gone so far as to betray his country to aid the group he had been sent to destroy.

Mr. Axe blinked slowly as a rather unsettling thought entered his mind...... A flash of putting themselves between a group of corrupt cops and a gang of ruthless Jamaicans was quickly followed by images of ducking behind a dumpster, caught between the meth makers and the guys robbing them...

"Jesse, drive faster." Sam felt sick. He had failed his best friend.

"I'm already pushing a hundred miles an hour. This old tank ain't made for street racing, bro."

"Just do it, will ya? I gotta call Fi... Stop her from making things any worse than they already are."

If Mikey really was on a kamikaze mission, the last thing they all needed was a tiny Irish menace added to the mix.

()()()()()

Fiona stared impotently at the ten foot high perimeter wall which the love of her life had just disappeared over with such ease. Frowning, the petite Irishwoman began to pace, her blood boiling as she worked on concealing her anxieties about what her unstable lover was about to do behind a show of frustration and anger.

She didn't worry; what she was feeling definitely was not concern. Pursing her lips, she eyed up the barrier which separated her from the infuriating man whose ass she wanted to kick clear across the whole State of Florida. No, she never worried, not about anything...

The buzz and vibration of the cell phone still held in her hand pulled the ex-terrorist's attention away from what she wanted to do to the runaway spy. Though seeing SAM flash up on the phone's display did nothing to improve her mood.

"This better be important, Sam."

"I'm just checking in. I wanted to make sure you're not about to do anything stupid, like go after Mike. Cuz you know that would just be plain crazy, right? All you'd end up doing is alerting Strong or Kendrick to where we are and what we're doing before we've got the goods to protect our asses."

Fiona sucked in a breath before replying. "Just get here, Sam – and stop bothering me."

"We're about about a half hour out and, once we hit the morning rush hour traffic, there's no telling how bad that's gonna be- Hey, just do me a favour, lady. Keep your head on straight and wait for back up."

Fiona glanced at her watch. There was no way she could hang around and do nothing, not for half an hour.

"You know how much I hate surveillance, Sam. Just get here as fast as you can. Who's driving?"

"Jesse and he's got his foot to the floor before you ask."

"Remind him I don't like being kept waiting. You should have stolen something with a fifth gear!"

"We're doin' our best..."

"Do better." She ended the call abruptly and pushed the phone down into her pocket.

She could drive the pick up straight through the front gate, take out the security guard on the way with her Walther and drive up to Max Lister's house. Michael would be furious, but she'd give him no choice but to do things her way. They could throw the satellite expert in the back of the truck and find somewhere quiet to question him.

She liked the idea. It was simple and direct. But as she began to add more details to her plot she realized it could possibly alert Kendrick to their presence. It was hard to believe that a man who was paranoid enough to put a twenty four hour guard on Madeline wouldn't also keep tabs on the man who knew some of his deepest secrets.

Sighing, she filed the desperate plan away in case she couldn't come up with something better. Michael alive and angry with her was better than Michael dead and gone because he was trying to sacrifice himself.

Standing next to the pick-up, she continued to try to come up with some way to stop the man she loved doing something so reckless it verged on suicidal. Why couldn't he see being forced to work without his team was what had gotten him into the situation he was in now?

If only she could have followed him over that wall.

Seconds later, she was at the back of the truck, crouching down by the rear bumper. All she really required was something to stand on, something tall enough to give her the boost she needed so she could pull herself over the security wall. She couldn't get the pick-up close enough without drawing attention to what she was doing, but then again she didn't need the whole truck. There was something else she could use.

It took her only a few seconds of digging around the seats to find the bar to lower the spare tire and only another few seconds to drop said tire to the ground. Dragging it out she took another look along the street to make sure she was still in the clear and then rolled the tire across to the spot by the wall.

Michael had a fifteen minute head start on her and she had yet to find the communication expert's house. But as she began her search in earnest, all she could think about was what Michael really had planned. Because now that she was thinking about it, his idea to buy their freedom by giving the CIA James' communications center would only work if Mr. Kendrick was out of the picture too.

()()()()()

"Fi said go faster." Sam relayed the Irishwoman's demand.

"Faster, you're kidding me, right?" Jesse sent his friend a wide eyed look. He had already had to slow down because as soon as they reached the Tamiami Trail, the traffic had started to get heavier. "I'm doing the best I can with this soccer mom special."

"Well, the little psycho, who let me remind you is all alone waiting for Mike to reappear, says do better." Sam put a hand out onto the dash board to brace himself as the SUV sped up and then made a sudden maneuver to get around a slower moving vehicle. "But do it without getting us killed, huh?"

"You want to do the driving, Sammy? Cuz I'll pull over if you think you can do better," the younger man answered the critique of his skills behind the wheel. "This isn't exactly my favorite tricked out ride, you know, guaranteed to navigate-"

"Quit whining and drive faster."

()()()()()

Michael Westen, the man, was gone, his soul locked away where it couldn't interfere with what needed to be done. All that was left was the spy, the soldier, the apprentice assassin that the army and the CIA had molded him into. Tom Card, Larry Sizemore, Simon Escher, Andrew Strong, they would all recognize and approve of the figure who had given up on waiting for his target to come to him and instead was now creeping silently through the five bedroom condo belonging to Max Lister.

At least this time he wasn't stalking a five year old child on behalf of a terrorist and with the tacit approval of the CIA

With his gun drawn, the spy cleared each room he came across with an efficiency which only came from specialized training and a whole lot of practice. In less than five minutes, he was at the door where he expected to find his target. Silently pushing open the door, he took a moment to take in the details of the semi-dark room. He could hear the sound of soft breathing and see a sleeping shape on the bed.

Feeding a round into the chamber of his semi-automatic, Michael took two swift strides and was at the bedside. With his gun pointed at his target, the spy picked up the reading lamp next to the bed. Holding it directly in front of the slumbering man, he flicked the switch and Max Lister was rudely awoken by a blinding light and the sensation of a gun barrel being thrust into his face.

"Don't bother," Michael warned grimly when the sleep befuddled man attempted to strike out at his assailant. "I turned off your alarm system and the cameras when I came inside. We're all alone."

"W-Who are you? W-what d-do you want? I have money," Lister frantically pointed to a piece of art hanging on the wall across the room. "Behind th-there... I'll give you the combination."

"Who I am is not important, Max." Michael used the man's name, to let him know this wasn't a random home invasion. "What I want from you is the location of the communications center you set up for a man called James Kendrick and everything else you have on the place... security, personnel, everything."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lister gulped.

"Oh, you do not want to lie to me, Max." He hadn't the time or inclination to play nice in the face of this man's false bravado. To make his point, the spy changed the angle of his gun barrel. "It could cost you a knee." Neither sympathy nor empathy had any place in this soulless version of Michael Westen.

"I- I really don't know." Max's voice was barely more than a whisper as he cowered back under the covers.

"Do you have any idea how painful it is to be shot in the knee?" Michael inquired softly. "Maybe you think you can take the mind numbing agony. How do you feel about walking with a limp for the rest of your life, Max? A limp would be the best case scenario, cuz there's always the chance I'll clip an artery and then you'll bleed out in your bed, ruining those fancy high thread count sheets you're lying on."

The satellite expert paled and swallowed thickly. "S-some guys came to me and gave me a bunch of money to do a job for them," he whined. "Afterwards they came back and said if I ever said anything, I was dead."

"I'd say you have a more immediate problem. Because if you don't tell me what I want to know, I will kill you. But not until after I've inflicted a certain amount of pain for wasting my time."

"It's in a building down town, the old Miami Chronicle building." He was no hero and Max knew it. James Kendrick had threatened to come back and kill him if he ever talked about what he'd done, but this man with the ice cold aura scared him far more than the softly spoken southern gentleman type with an army at his disposal.

Michael blinked and his finger slipped inside the trigger guard, his disbelief plainly visible on his grim features. Max could see it too and rushed on.

"Don't you see? The building had all the tech already in place. Satellite hook ups, the microwave dish array, all of it. This guy James, he bought it from the demolition team and I just hooked up to what was there."

"How many people are in there? How many guards?" the disgraced spy pushed for more details, wanting to be on his way as quickly as possible.

"It's unmanned. It's just a relay station. They pick up secure signals, they decrypt them and pass them on. To the world, it's just an old empty building boarded up until the owners can decide what to with it."

"Clever... So, no guards to look out for... How about – Are there any back-ups on the system?"

"A- a hard drive, it records everything in case the power goes out. Look, in the safe," he pointed with a shaking finger. "Over there, I kept a copy of the building blueprints... You know, just in case. You can have it all if you promise to let me live."

Michael barred his teeth in what was supposed to be a charming smile and gestured with his gun. "You want to get them for me?"

He stood back while the communications expert scrambled out of his bed and took down the painting from the wall. Within seconds, he was handing the gun toting stranger a folded up blueprint of the whole Miami Chronicle building and, as a bonus, a list of the door codes for the various offices inside.

"Good job, thank you. Max." The spy praised as he took the paperwork with one hand, while with the other he struck hard and fast, knocking his captive out with a glancing blow to the forehead with the grip of his gun.

Securing his prisoner with cable ties and a gag made from a roll of duct tape he had discovered when he first broke into the garage, Michael left the insensate man lying when he had fallen.

Pushing the paperwork into the pocket of his pants, the spy went over to Max's bedside night stand and picked up the cell phone laying on its surface. Carefully opening the back, he removed the battery and there, just as he suspected, was a little addition inside, no doubt placed there by one of James' techs.

His head jerked around at a slight noise coming from the downstairs and the smile fell from his lips.

She'd found him.

With one final look at the satellite expert to satisfy himself that the tech was still out cold, Michael opened the bedroom window, climbed out and then dropped almost silently to the ground.

"Michael!"

He heard the whispered shout but managed to ignore it. Without looking back, he ran off, all his focus on the next part of his mission.

()()()()()

Fiona leaned as far out of the window as she could, her right arm extended, her gun pointed at the fleeing spy's back. She would not have shot to kill, she told herself, just wound him sufficiently to slow him down.

Furious at how close she had come, but just not close enough, the auburn haired woman retreated back into the bedroom and for the first time turned her attention to the bound and unconscious man lying on the floor. Tearing the duct tape roughly from over his lips, the Irishwoman slapped the satellite expert's cheeks and tried to shake him awake. But the large bruise which was beginning to form on the side of the stubbornly senseless man's forehead told her that it was unlikely Max Lister was going to be up to answering questions any time soon.

Getting slowly to her feet, Fiona pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes, determined to stop the tears that threatened to fall...... The fool was going to get himself killed, she was sure of it. 

She looked down at the unmoving body at her feet and delivered a swift hard kick to the man's side and, when she got no reaction from the limp form, she turned away in disgust.........And because some people couldn't take a blow to the head without passing out, there was nothing she could do to stop it from happening.

Noticing the open safe, she walked towards it. That was when she saw the neatly folded piece of paper by the window Michael had gone through just as she'd entered the room. Picking it up, the redhead carefully unfolded it. In her hand she held a long list of numbers, most likely codes of some sort as they were in groups of six.

Turning the sheet over, a triumphant smile broke out as she saw the letterhead intact. She had an address! Leaving the bedroom, she stopped in the living room only long enough to pick up the set of car keys she had seen by the door before helping herself to Mr. Lister's vehicle.

Driving sedately out through the security gate, smiling at the guard who raised the barriers for her to pass through, she just hoped she was going to the right place.

()()()()()

Sitting in the morning rush hour traffic in the pick-up truck Fiona had abandoned to chase him down, Michael fought to keep all his focus on the task ahead of him. In the back seat was the bag containing his former girlfriend's small arsenal of weapons and C-4. Next to him on the front seat was the folded up blueprints of the building he needed to breach and in his pocket was Max Lister's cell phone. When he placed James' bug back inside and connected it to the battery, it would alert James to his location and then, when he made a call on the phone, the charismatic leader of the rogue organization would know who it was breaking into his top secret installation. If everything went according to plan in the next couple hours, it would all be over. His friends would be free from the threat of prison or assassination and he would have the peace he so desperately sought.

What about us, Michael? Don't we have a say in this?

Wiping a hand roughly over his eyes, Michael tried to clear his vision and quieten the voice in his head. He could see her, the way she had approached him, outside the nightclub wearing her anger like a suit of armour........."I can't owe you my freedom, I just can't."

But it wasn't just the beautiful Irishwoman who had stolen his heart in his head. He could hear the disgust in Sam's voice......... "You're not just helping them, you're one of them."

He remembered the wary look in Jesse's eyes every time he moved or spoke.

His nephew pleading for him to stay, the toddler unaware of the enormity of what he was asking......"Unca Mike, don' go, I be good. Don' go."

He had to stay strong and do what was necessary to keep his team, his family safe.

Shaking the images from his head and hardening his heart, the soulless spy took back control as Michael denied the images flittering through his mind. He had no more time for regrets. Ahead of him lay the turn in the road which would take him to the old Miami Chronicle building and his one chance for redemption.

()()()()()

"Let me get this straight. You've left a man who looks like he's been pistol whipped tied up on his bedroom floor and you're now chasing Mikey half way across Miami. Only you're not sure if you're on a wild goose chase, cuz your only piece of intel is a scrap of paper you found on the bedroom floor where you think Mike was standing before he skedaddled. Is that about right, sister?"

Sam peered out at the slow moving traffic at his side. They were only a few miles away from Coral Gables, but with the build-up of cars on the roads as they got nearer to the city they might as well been ten or even fifty miles away.

"I'm sure, as sure as I can be that I've got the right place," Fiona's voice sounded over the speakerphone. "Look, if I'm right, I'm less than ten minutes behind him. You two go see if you can wake up Max, that way if I'm wrong you'll be there to make him talk."

"No, Fi, we're better off sticking together. Remember what happened last time one of us tried to reason with Mike?"

"The mistake you made was trying to reason with him, Sam. I intend to shoot him in the leg. That way he can't run away while we knock some sense into his thick head."

The two men in the Tahoe exchanged glances. They both knew there was no way they could stop the Irishwoman from doing what she wanted, however foolish they thought it was.

"You do what you have to, Fi," Sam finally answered. "Just take care, okay, missy?"

"Hey, you spot Mike, you call us straight away, ya hear me, Fi?" Jesse added.

"I hear you, Jesse. Take care, boys." And she was gone.

"So we're stuck babysitting the satellite tech while Fiona tries to wrangle Mike," Jesse grumbled, a frown wrinkling his brow as they rolled to a stop at yet another set of lights.

Sam pursed his lips and rubbed a hand over his stubble covered jaw. The Miami Chronicle building, on the face of it, seemed like a ridiculous place to run a covert communications network through. It was in the middle of the city, surrounded by other buildings and people… lots and lots of people.

But the more he thought about it, the probable it became. Who would be interested in a boarded up derelict building? Who would question the occasional workman going inside? There was a satellite dish on top, he remembered seeing it…a great big hard to miss satellite dish.

"I think Fiona might be onto something with the Chronicle building." he spoke up. "Look, let me out here. I can cut across the park there." He pointed to the large patch of open space they were just passing. "I'll find another car and meet up with Fi. If she's right, she's gonna need help stopping whatever Mike is planning."

"Uh-huh, you're the one who said we should stick together and now you want to run off? So, no, we both go after Fi or we both go to Max's place, together. You choose."

Punching the door in frustration, the former SEAL glared at his partner in arms. "You're right, we stick together... Get this thing turned around. We're going to the Chronicle building."

()()()()()

Michael stared at the large sheet of paper he had unfolded and placed on the dashboard, his blue eyes were little more than slits, his mouth set in a thin hard line. He had the blue print, but the list with all the door codes was gone. Somewhere between Max's condo and the pick-up truck, he had lost the scrap of paper. This would have never happened if he hadn't been running on empty. He wasn't only worn out both physically and emotionally, but growing mentally fatigued as well. From now on, he was going to have to slow down and think more carefully about what he was doing.

He couldn't afford any more mistakes. Not when he was this close to finishing it all.

After studying the building layout, the spy carefully refolded the diagram and then leaned over to the back seat, dragging the bag of weapons to his side...... It was time to go.

Going through the front doors had never been part of Michael's plan, even when he thought he had the codes. Instead he went around to the back of the building and found a small alcove where it was unlikely he would be spotted by any passers-by. A few minutes later, he had taped a length of detonator cord to the wall, following the lines of the brick work in order to affect an entry. Standing clear, he blew a hole in the structure and, with only a cursory glance behind him, he climbed through the hole and made his way inside.

As soon as he reached the lobby, he came to a stop at the sight of James' counter measures to deal with anybody foolish enough to try and get inside using more conventional methods to gain entry. The large main doors were rigged to blow with enough RDX to level the front of the building.

This would not do. For his plan to succeed, he needed everybody to make it safely inside. Luckily whoever had ever rigged the explosives for James had made it simple to disarm from the inside. With the clipping of a few wires, the devices were made inert.

Running up the broken escalators and along corridors, the lack of door codes only slowed him down by mere minutes, each one nothing more than those that could be found in any low security office building. That was until he reached the door leading to the room containing the satellite feed and the hard drive holding all James' organizations most recent communications.

The door was reinforced steel and the key lock was of a far superior standard than all the others he had bypassed. Running a hand over the edges of the door, he came to the conclusion he wouldn't bother with the lock. Instead he turned his attention to the walls.

People put a lot of faith in locks......   
Using the last of his supply of det cord, he fashioned another way into the room....... Even former Green Berets who should know better.

Michael found the hard drive without a problem and set about downloading all the information it held. While it worked, he checked out the rest of the room and what he saw made him realize he had made yet another serious error.

High up on the wall, watching over the whole room was a discrete camera. The spy closed his eyes, his hands forming fists...... How many more of the small surveillance devices had he missed, because he was too busy focusing on reaching his objective?

Taking a deep breath, he let it go slowly....... This made no difference. It just meant he would have to accelerate his plans a bit, that was all. The download of the hard drive was complete and worrying about things he couldn't change was not part of his DNA.

Taking the thumb drive, Michael left the communications room and made his way out. From studying the blue prints earlier, he knew just where he wanted this final stand off to take place. As he ran along the corridors and back down the stairs, he was pleased to note that James had chosen only to use a camera to watch over that one room.

He came to a stop on the first floor. From there he had a good view of the ground floor and the only way up to him was the dual escalators or the bank of elevators which were out of order. Most of the area was open plan with just a few damaged office dividers, several old desks and chairs scattered about, none of which would offer any protection from automatic gun fire. Crossing the open space, he entered one of only three offices along the back wall and closed the thin, oak-veneer door behind him. As cover went, it wasn't much, but it would do.

Sitting down on the hard concrete floor, with his back against the wall and facing the door, Michael held Max Lister's cell phone in his hands. He had no time waste now that James knew he had found the heart of his operations. With the bug gone from the phone, hopefully Mr. Kendrick would remain unaware of the other guests who were going to be invited to the party.

"Agent Strong?" he spoke as soon as the call was answered. "It's me. We have to talk. I have something for you."

"Westen, whatever you're hoping to gain by –"

"Nothing," Michael interrupted. "I don't want a single thing for myself. All I want is a guarantee that my friends will be left alone. You do that for me and I'll give you the key to bring James Kendrick's whole organization down."

"I can't make that deal, thanks to you," Strong spat into the phone. "I'm out, remember? Because of you I have nothing," he added bitterly.

"Well, that makes two of us," the spy snapped back and then took a calming breath. "Look, I know you still have contacts. You weren't alone chasing down Burke and then James. You had your own team, so use them. I have valuable information in my hand right now if you want it. If you want your career back, you'll make the deal, and come and get me... Last chance, Strong... If you don't get to me first, James will win, because I'm too tired to run anymore." He waited as he heard his former handler breathe down the phone.

"Where are you?"

"We have a deal? I give you James and we're all free?"

"Yes, damn you."

"The old Chronicle building... Don't be late."

He knew Strong would never honor the deal. The man no longer had the authority to make promises to rogue spies and enemies of the state. It had come to him after his meeting with the Director of Clandestine Affairs that Senior Field Officer Andrew Strong wasn't the true blue, by the book agent he claimed to be. Eight futile years hunting down a ghost had left a black stain on the man's character.

Because if the Director's disgust at using a man such as a burned and disgraced spy was real, how would he have felt about the Agency using an even worse monster, such as Simon Escher? Which then had led to other interesting thoughts about exactly how much of Agent Strong's career making assignment that he had gotten roped into had actually been sanctioned by the CIA?

Michael slipped the bug back into the phone so James would have his exact location when the terrorist leader would come hunting for the traitor who had gotten his second in command captured and placed it on the ground next to him. This next bit was going to be the hardest part of all.

Because all he had to do now was sit and wait.

He wiped a hand over his eyes, as his mind betrayed him, sending him memories of better times, reminding him of what he had thrown away. Dimly right in the back of his mind he could hear an old tune, a haunting melody sung at the end of a long night in a back street Dublin bar.

Oo00oo

Of all the money that e'er I had  
I've spent it in good company  
And all the harm that e'er I've done  
Alas it was to none but me  
And all I've done for want of wit  
To memory now I can't recall  
So fill to me the parting glass  
Good night and joy be with you all

oo00oo

He had been in a bar in Kilkenny, establishing his cover with his first handler, Robin O'Dowd, the first time he'd heard it. The melody had stuck with him, but he hadn't made out the words then.

Oo00oo

Of all the comrades that e'er I had  
They are sorry for my going away  
And all the sweethearts that e'er I had  
They would wish me one more day to stay  
But since it falls unto my lot  
That I should rise and you should not  
I'll gently rise and I'll softly call  
Good night and joy be with you all

oo00oo

He'd just wrapped up a long night of successfully recruiting Sean Glenanne as his new friend and asset when he'd heard it the second time. The words had made him shiver once he'd actually heard and understood them. It stayed with him every time thereafter he'd listened to the lyrics.

Oo00oo

A man may drink and not be drunk  
A man may fight and not be slain  
A man may court a pretty girl  
And perhaps be welcomed back again  
But since it has so ought to be  
By a time to rise and a time to fall  
Come fill to me the parting glass  
Good night and joy be with you all  
Good night and joy be with you all

oo00oo

He was trying to block out the music playing in his mind as he remembered closing down the bar, being thrown out as a matter of fact, because he had danced the night away with a beautiful woman, a beautiful woman who had offered to shoot him before deciding to dance with him instead.

Then he was saved the trouble of trying to quiet the noise in his head, as the voice he was waiting for, the voice that had spent too much time occupying space in his mind, sounded outside the door.

"Knock, knock, Michael, I know you're here. Why don't ya just come out an' meet me like a man?"

The lonely, lost spy got to his feet, checked his gun and stepped towards the door. He hoped Strong had his act together. He prayed that somewhere out there, a CIA tactical team was waiting to strike.

Because all he had left was relying on one simple tactic that he had used many times before. If luck was on his side, then Strong, who had betrayed him and abused his loyalty, and James, who had corrupted his soul, would kill each other.

And if luck was against him......... well, it really would be good night and joy be with you all.


	6. Bring Me To Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Bring Me To Life was written by Amy Lee, Ben Moody, and David Hodges and produced by Dave Fortman. I am just borrowing it.

It took up valuable time and brought Fiona's stress levels up close to boiling point, but the Irishwoman eventually spotted an empty parking place and brought her borrowed ride to a stop across the street from what had once been the headquarters of the Miami Chronicle. Staring at the massive structure, her heart sunk as she took in the enormity of the task ahead of her.

"What are you playing at, Michael?" The redhead wondered out loud. Searching that entire building was going to be impossible in under a week and that was without knowing for sure if the troubled spy was even inside. And even if he was, what if he didn't want to be found?

Pursing her lips, she continued to scan the front of the structure, refusing to be beaten by what amounted to bricks and mortar. She knew Michael, knew how he worked. He would never go in through the front door. 

No, Mr. Westen would look for a vulnerable back door....... She thought about the bag of supplies she had left on the back seat of the pick-up and a small smile lightened her expression....... Or maybe he made a doorway of his own.

Putting the car in drive, the Irishwoman went to pull back out into the chaos that was the early morning traffic in the business district of Miami. Then after a moment, she sighed and switched the engine off and climbed out of the luxury vehicle. At this time of day, it would be quicker to scout the perimeter on foot.

Once across the busy street, it took the redhead no time at all to find a gap in the badly maintained chain link fence surrounding the derelict building and begin her search for the entry point she was sure she would find.

And there it was. In less than five minutes, she had discovered a man-size hole blasted in the wall, partially hidden by a row of battered looking dumpsters. Stroking her fingertips over the roughened edges of the newly formed doorway, the explosive expert felt the heat still retained in the bricks. The fugitive spy was maybe twenty minutes ahead of her. Peering cautiously inside, the Irishwoman tiptoed over the rubble and, with her handgun leading the way, entered the building.

It was deathly quiet. Any hope that the large empty building would help her by causing any small sounds made by her errant former lover to echo down to her faded as she finished a rather cursory search of the lobby.

As she checked out the decommissioned booby traps attached to the front doors, Fiona reached for her phone to update the rest of the team.

"Hey, Fi. Any n-" Sam answered the call, but she had no time to pass pleasantries with the older man.

"Forget about Max... I'm inside the Chronicle. Michael's here. I've just got to find him."

"No, Fi wait, we're nearly there. Wait for us."

"There's no time."

"Damn it, Tinkerbell, just for once -"

"I've no time fer yar fussin', Sam, just get har!" She ended the call abruptly and began her search in earnest.

()()()()()

Sam stared at his phone before angrily throwing it onto the dashboard. "We need to get there ten minutes ago."

"I'm doin' the best I can, man...Hey…" his younger companion gestured with a lift of his chin as they came to a halt at yet another set of traffic lights. "That's it, isn't it? That big ass place with the dish on top?"

"Yeah, we're getting close, but not - Hey, what're you doin'?" The last part came as Mr. Porter suddenly forced the minivan into the dense line of traffic at their side and then onto a narrow side street.

"The only way we're gonna get there before Fi finds Mike and tears him a new one is if we go the rest of the way on foot... You got your running shoes on, Sam?"

"Seems to be all I wear these days." The older man sighed deeply and then with a groan reached for the bag holding their meager supply of weapons.

Using the large satellite dish as a visual guide, the pair ran along the back streets, cutting down alleyways and over fences in an effort to take the most direct route to their target. It was when they passed by the pick-up truck Michael and Fiona had been using for their part in the now aborted take down of James' communication expert that both men increased their speed even further; they were definitely at the right place.

"So, how long has it been?" Jesse panted when they reached the chain link fence marking the perimeter.

"Since Fi called? Maybe ten, fifteen minutes... There's no way she'd have found him yet. Not with the way our luck is going."

"Okay, let's do this." The taller man held open the broken piece of fence. "Find Fi, find Mike, grab the evidence we need and hand it over to the CIA guy who hates us... Couldn't be simpler, huh?"

"Well, when you put it like that…" Sam grinned at his younger friend. "Easy peasy."

Five minutes later, the duo were lying flat on the ground, hoping that the guys in the three large black SUVs pulling up in front of the building hadn't spotted them.

"We're too late," Jesse groaned.

"Nope, I'd say we're just in time," Mr. Axe corrected. "As long as they don't spot us, we can back up Mike's play."

"And if his play is to rejoin James' merry little band?"

"Mike is past all that... He's got his head on straight." Sam didn't want to think about his best friend turning his back on them all a second time. His heart couldn't take that level of betrayal. Not after all they had been through. "This is some damn crazy Hail Mary play, you wait and see."

()()()()()

With the ground floor cleared and Fiona now carrying a small supply of RDX rigged with hastily made detonators harvested from James' booby traps, the Irishwoman moved on to check out the first floor in her effort to track down her man.

She was half way up the escalator when she heard several loud clunks, which sounded very much like car doors being slammed shut. Pausing, several scenarios ran quickly through her head: It was too many car doors closing for it to be Sam and Jesse. Besides they wouldn't have boldly driven right up to the doors. Strong and the CIA? Michael wouldn't have called them yet, unless he had found what he was looking for, and if he had found the information he wanted, he would have been in plain sight waiting to hand it over........   
That only left James Kendrick...

The Irishwoman paled and sprinted the rest of the way up the metal staircase, making it out of sight just in time as the doors opened and there was a rush of booted feet entering the lobby below where she stood. Looking around, she ran soundlessly across the open space scattered with broken and abandoned furniture and crept into one of the three empty offices at the far end of the room.

Flattening her body against the wall, she turned her head to the side so she could hear what was happening outside. In her hand she held her gun, her finger inside the trigger guard ready to fire. If they discovered her, there was no way she would leave this world quietly – or alone.

()()()()()

Outside Sam and Jesse could only watch helplessly as James Kendrick appeared from the middle vehicle in the convoy and waited as his men spread out, the main body of his team unlocking and going through the front doors, while two teams of two separated to flank the building.

"So, what's the play here, Sammy?" Jesse asked.

"We gotta get rid of those guys outside," came the grim reply. "Any ideas?"

"We could split up, two against one... You think you're up to simultaneously taking down two trained guys wearing body armor, and carrying radios?"

The former navy commander didn't deign to answer the ex-CIFA agent's question. Instead he went back to studying the lay out of the building and thinking back to the spy he knew like a brother.

"The north side of the building is exposed to the road and the east side looks straight out over the water. So, let's go after the team covering the south-west quadrant. I guarantee, we take them out and we'll find out where Mike got inside. Then it will just be a case of getting behind the psychopath with an army at his beck and call."

"O-kay then, let's get moving." Jesse was half way up when he felt a hand grab his belt and pull him back down. "Sam?"

"On second thoughts," the older man spoke slowly. "I think one of us should be able to sneak inside, while the other one heads back to the bayou to watch over Maddy and Charlie. If James gets away, he's going to….."

Jesse swallowed thickly. His friend didn't have to finish the sentence. "You should go... I'm more stealthy..."

Sam shook his head at the younger man's words. "Mike's my friend, my best friend."

"Well, we have a problem then." his shaven headed companion sighed. "Cuz, I'm not gonna be the one who goes back to Maddy and tells her I left her only son hanging." He pointed to the doors James' men had just gone through. "Now we can lie here and discuss whose goin' where or we can both go kick some bad guys butts... You chose."

()()()()()

"Ya broke muh heart, Michael. Ah was gonna give ya everything, give muh life's work to ya and this is how ya repay me? Turning on us like a lowly serpent?"

The spy's hand shook as he reached out for the door handle and, just for a second, he paused letting his eyes slide close. The softly spoken accusation set his mind afire again. The man waiting for him on the other side of the door had ripped away the blindfold which had been shielding him from the reality of his life. Showing him the truth, that what he had held as sacrosanct was nothing but a lie.

The CIA had threatened his friends, ordered him to do whatever he had to for the mission: kill a child, assassinate a friend. They had forced him to drag his friends into a mission they should have had no part in and put his family in danger.

"When I gave you this assignment, I said I needed the Michael Westen who is willing to do what?"  
"Whatever it takes."  
"Well, this is what it takes."  
He had done everything asked of him, and for what?

"They got me out of the box almost as soon as you put me in it."  
The CIA had freed Simon Escher... They had freed a monster and, in doing so, they had done something not even Management and Anson would have done. Then they had put that monster in charge of a team.

"They'll probably pin a medal on my chest for this."  
And if the CIA would do that, how was James' organization any more heinous than that?........

"Quit tryin' to hide, Michael, and come out. I want to know why, why you turned Sonya, my Sonya, over to the CIA?" A living monster's voice drowned out the mocking tones of the far worse monster freed by the so-called good guys.

His Sonya- his second in command who ordered the deaths of innocent people to protect James.

He had killed Roger on this man's order. He had slain a friend to protect his cover, to protect the lives of the people he loved, for his family... For people who had turned their backs on him, who had moved on with their lives while he had been forced to do this man's bidding for the CIA, to work for people who had no honor in order to protect his family... 

And now he had lost his chance to run that massive organization, where he could have righted wrongs. He could have done the things he wanted, the way he wanted, never again to be someone's pawn... But he had thrown it all away..... No, his friends had taken it away from him.

He'd wanted to leave them behind to keep them safe, but he had been the one to keep dragging them back into his life, when he should have never used them. If he hadn't involved them, none of this would have ever happened. He should have been handing James over to the CIA right now, except...  
For a spy, loyalty is a strange thing. You job is to deceive, to live among your enemies to perform dark deeds for a noble purpose. And it's that purpose that guides you through the darkness. When you lose sight of that, the darkness is all there is.

Except what would have happened then?  
Serbia and Bosnia...they had lived amongst murderers and those who did far worse. He and Larry had witnessed true evil and done nothing to save the victims because their mission was far too important to be allowed to fail. Years later, in Chechnya, a whole family killed in cold blood and the evidence of the crime destroyed. He had actually been given a medal for that, a medal for standing back and - and then - and then Vedona, where he had been the one doing the killing. All those people trapped in an inferno he had caused; all these years later, he still woke up in the dead of night by the screams of his victims.

Michael gasped and opened his eyes, he couldn't do this any longer; it was too painful. The clarity of purpose which had allowed him to do so many bad things because he believed what he was doing was for a greater good was gone. Now everything was chaos, as his mind spun in endless circles of recrimination and regret, the lure of James' vision and the horror of it clashing together.

()

How can you see into my eyes, like open doors?  
Leading you down into my core where I've become so numb

()()()

He'd tried to do it without them... without her for almost a year and he just couldn't. He'd surely proven that. Only he had run away from them, away from the only people who could have truly helped him. His friends ...his Fiona...wasn't there to bring him back to the light this time.

()

Without a soul, my spirit's sleeping somewhere cold  
Until you find it there and lead it back home

()()()

And now it was too late for anyone to help him. He'd run away from her for the last time...  
He felt sick, sick to his stomach. He couldn't continue, not like this.  
Now, there was only the darkness.

Lifting a shaky hand, the tormented spy swiped it across his eyes, pushing all the emotional turmoil back down. All he had to do was step through the door and it would all be over.

()

Wake me up inside  
(I can't wake up)  
Wake me up inside  
(Save me)  
Call my name and save me from the dark

()()()

"Knock, knock, Michael, I know you're here. Why don't ya just come out an' meet me like a man?" Fiona froze, at the sound of the educated southern drawl.

James Kendrick was right there, only inches away from her. The Irishwoman fought the urge to step out from her hiding place and confront the bastard who had done so much damage to the man she loved.

"Ya broke muh heart, Michael. Ah was gonna give ya everything, give muh life's work to ya and this is how ya repay me? Turning upon us all like a lowly serpent."

Where was Michael? What was his game?   
The petite redhead tightened her grip on her handgun, running her tongue over her lips she steadied her nerves as she waited for the action to start.

"Quit tryin' to hide, Michael. I want to know why, why you turned Sonya – my Sonya – over to the CIA?"

Slowly, Fiona reached out, her free hand curling around the door handle. She had to know what was happening on the other side of the door....... Why wasn't Michael answering his former – who was James to the fallen spy… his commander or his target?

"James, tell your men to back off. I'm coming out."

It was lucky Fiona had nerves made of steel. Because the last thing she had expected was that she had been so close to her quarry all this time....... Just not close enough, she added sadly.

"Ya don' get to give orders, not any more. Ya threw that chance away when you turned your back on us all," the tall dark Southerner replied coldly.

The click of a door opening set off a chain reaction of movement, as the men backing James Kendrick's play brought their weapons up and prepared to open fire. Taking the risk that Michael's appearance would hold the attention of the men outside, the Irishwoman took the opportunity to open the door to her hiding place and finally get a glimpse at the drama taking place before her.

"I'm alone, James. There's no need for this. I give up. Just let my friends live and I'll tell you everything."

Unbidden moisture welled up in her eyes. The man standing just out of her reach sounded so beaten. His voice so low and soft, she had barely caught his words. She saw the slump to his shoulders and noticed the gun in his hand hanging down at his side, his finger already on the trigger, and her heart shattered as her worst fears were realized.

Hurriedly the heartbroken Irishwoman thrust her gun into the back of the waistband of her pants and then pulled out one of the small pieces of RDX she had taken from by the front doors. Keeping a close eye on the events unfolding before her, Fiona prepared to stop Michael Westen from making the biggest and most final mistake of his life.

She was going to save his ass whether he wanted it saved or not.

()

(Wake me up)  
Bid my blood to run  
(I can't wake up)  
Before I come undone  
(Save me)  
Save me from the nothing I've become

()()()

"Oh, and the hits just keep coming. How many more folks do you think Mike's invited to this party?"

Sam Axe looked up from where he was securing the second of the two man team they had managed to take down with a mixture of stealth and the stocks of the shotguns they were carrying.

"Care to elaborate there, Jess?" the older man asked as he slapped a strip of duct tape over the mouth of the man he had just finished tying up.

"Strong, and about six guys, making their way across the parking lot…"

The ex-SEAL was on his feet in an instance. Joining his friend, the former commander grimaced at the scene before him.

"Dammit, Mikey," Sam growled softly. Then he gestured with a lift of his chin in the direction of the seven men dressed in civilian attire underneath government-issue bullet proof vests. "We've gotta stop that idiot before he gets him and his men killed."

"You think Mikey is setting Strong up?"

"I think Mike set himself up as bait and he's gonna let Strong and James fight it out."

Jesse pursed his lips as the CIA team reached the side of the building. "Strong is gonna get his ass handed to him if that's his whole team."

"Well, I guess we better help him out then," Sam sighed unhappily.

"You want to help the CIA? You do remember they're the guys who want to throw us all in a deep dark hole?"

"Yeah, I do. But, we don't have a choice, brother. Those men with Strong, they probably don't even know half the stuff he's done and he's gonna get 'em killed. Besides, in my book, James is still the bad guy, so that hasn't changed."

"Okay then, we'd best get moving though. The fool is leading his team straight towards the front door."

()()()()()

"I'm alone, James." Michael stepped calmly into the open. "There's no need for this. I give up. Just let my friends live and I'll tell you everything."

All his fears were gone. A strange peacefulness was settling over his troubled mind. He had felt the same way when Sonya had held a gun to his head after he had confessed to James that he was the spy sent to destroy the other man's organization.

"Oh, I guarantee you're going to talk, Michael, and then you're going to die for what ya did to Sonya... That was you," the tall southerner paused as he raked his former subordinate with his eyes. "Or was it your friends?"

"I didn't -" He stopped the words which would have sealed his friends' fate. He wanted all of James' attention focused on him. Swallowing, Michael looked the other man in the eyes. "This is between you and me. Promise me you'll leave my friends and family out of it and I'll come quietly."

He had no expectations of surviving this final encounter. All he could hope for now was if he was gone and James was dead, the CIA would have no reason to hurt the people he loved. He just wished Strong had had the nerve to make an appearance. But whatever happened, he had the satisfaction of knowing his former case officer was out of a job.

"Michael, drop the gun or I will shoot you down like the dog ya are."

"I don't think you will... You wanted to talk, we can still talk, James."

James stared at him. It was as if the older man was reading his mind. "Ya can't win. Ya have no more moves left, Michael. Surrender and I will make it quick... which is more than ya deserve."

It was time to make his peace. Michael sighed softly. It was time to end it all, as his hand began to rise and, in his last few moments, he thought about his lost chances.

He should have stayed in Ireland. He should have told Tom Card to go to hell and Liam Glenanne that he was willing to commit completely to his little sister. Having failed to do that, he knew that at any time during the first few years they had together in Miami, he could have ask Fiona to run away with him and she would have done it, damn the consequences.

His finger tightened on the trigger and he watched, as if in slow motion, James take half a step back while his men moved to cover their leader. And the dark haired spy half smiled...... He had never got to thank his friends for saving his soul.

He must have been hit. He felt no pain, but he was falling down.

()

Now that I know what I'm without  
You can't just leave me  
Breathe into me and make me real  
Bring me to life

()()()()()

Fiona was close enough to hear Michael softly exhale, her eyes going wide as he began to raise his gun and she reacted instantly. There was no more time. She had complete faith that if Sam and Jesse had made it in time, they would be doing their best to back whatever she did to put a stop to James and his men killing their friend.

Without a thought for her own safety, the Irishwoman launched herself forward, throwing the small cube of RDX straight at the leader of the rogue organization. As soon as the explosive left her hand, she caught hold of the back of Michael's T-shirt and dragged him to the floor as the blast ripped through the open plan office.

"F-Fi?" Michael coughed and gasped as the smoke began to clear. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Where else should I be?" she answered him with a smile. But her eyes were on the men struggling to their feet, among them James Kendrick, his shaggy mane of dark hair plastered against the side of his face as blood streamed out of a deep head wound.

But before she could respond to the threat, another enemy intervened.

()

(Wake me up)  
Wake me up inside  
(I can't wake up)  
Wake me up inside  
(Save me)  
Call my name and save me from the dark  
(Wake me up)  
Bid my blood to run  
(I can't wake up)  
Before I come undone  
(Save me)  
Save me from the nothing I've become  
Bring me to life  
(I've been living a lie, there's nothing inside)  
Bring me to life

()()()()()

"Well, they're coming." Jesse altered his grip on his shotgun in an effort to look less threatening as the small team of CIA operatives changed direction and began to jog towards them.

"Let me do the talking." Sam stepped in front of his friend.

"You sure, buddy? Cuz if you remember -" The younger man was thinking back to his older team mate's reaction to Strong defending the use of Simon, by denouncing Michael as a monster no different to Escher.

"If you're about to remind me how this sonuvabitch freed Simon and put him in charge of a team during a half assed extraction, I've forgotten all about it," the former navy man informed his accomplice.

"Uh-huh, and here I thought you might be still holding a grudge."

The older man plastered a welcoming smile on his face and pointed to the two prone bodies at their feet. "Hey, Strong, about time you turned up. We've been doing your job for you... Is this the whole of your team?"

The disgraced agent ignored the other man's words. Instead he looked confused at the appearance of the two men. "What are you doing here? Michael said he was doing this alone."

"You musta misheard him. We're here, aren't we?" Sam answered evasively.

"Well, stay out of the way. We've got this." He gestured to his team. "One of you stay here and make sure, these men don't interfere -"

"Hey, before you go off half-cocked, buddy, and get these guys killed, James is inside with at least fifteen men. You need our help." Sam aggressively closed in on the man whose impatience and incompetence had led to the whole situation they were in now, only stopping when he felt Jesse's hand on his arm.

"There's no time for this. We -" A loud boom and the shattering of glass stopped Jesse from completing his sentence.

"We have to get inside now." For all his faults, Strong immediately ordered his men towards the front doors.

()()()()()

Fiona was positive she was seeing her last moments, when from out of nowhere a loud voice rang out.

"James Kendrick! You are surrounded." She never thought she'd be happy to hear that man's voice. But right then, she could have kissed him.

James' men, the ones who were still standing, were disorientated and still in shock from the unexpected blast. But at Strong's loud declaration, the experienced soldiers rallied and shots began to rain down on the CIA team coming up the stationary escalators.

Fiona pressed her petite frame down on top of her former lover. "Stay down, I've got this... I've got you." She wasn't taking any more chances on his mental state. From now on, she was going to make damn sure the troubled spy did as he was told.

Reaching into her pocket, the redhead pulled out another small piece of explosive. RDX produced a far deadlier blast than her usual C4 or the Semtex of her youth and, under normal circumstances, she would never risk using it in such close conditions. But this was about as far from normal as she could get.

She looked into the watery blue eyes staring up at her and let the spy see what she held.

"We've got to stay down."

He nodded his understanding and, with that, she armed the remote detonator and tossed the cube so it landed behind the last of Kendrick's men.

()

Frozen inside without your touch,  
Without your love, darling  
Only you are the life among the dead

()()()

The second explosion took the last of the fight out of the survivors. After only a few more shots, an unearthly silence settled over the scene. Feeling the woman above him shift her weight as she got to her feet, Michael Westen looked away from the scene of destruction to gaze into the sea green orbs of the woman he loved.

"Fi, I – I'm sorry," he mumbled as she held out a hand to help him onto his feet.

"No, you're not, but you will be," she promised as she smiled up at him, the palm of her hand flat against his chest as Fiona steadied him.

He had expected to die, he had wanted to die and now he was left feeling hollow and adrift.

"You came after me?"

He had said the same thing to James. It had been that act of loyalty which had severed the last strand of his allegiance to the CIA. It was in that moment he realized that he trusted the man he had been hunting to have his back more than the agency which had cast him aside, more than once.

"When will you get it through your -,"

They both heard the sound of approaching feet at the same moment and tensed in preparation to continue the fight.

()

All this time I can't believe I couldn't see  
Kept in the dark, but you were there in front of me  
I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems  
Got to open my eyes to everything

()()()

"What the hell, Fi?! You nearly took my goddamn head off with that second blast."

"Yeah, a little warning woulda been the cool thing to do, woman... Hey, Mike."

"Sam, Jesse." The redhead couldn't hide her joy at seeing her two friends were in one piece. "You made it... Late as usual, I see." But she also couldn't resist teasing them a little at missing most of the action.

Michael listened to the familiar bickering. He had missed this so much and it had taken his near death to remind him what it was to live.

"Any sooner and we woulda walked straight into your little firework display," Sam gently admonished.

"Kendrick, James Kendrick. You are under arrest." Strong's smug tone sounded strangely loud in the sudden quiet of what had been a battlefield and Michael was faintly surprised when he barely reacted to the voice of the man who had ridden him so hard that it had nearly killed him.

The team watched as the CIA senior agent dropped down beside the bloody body of the leader of the elusive organization he had been hunting for the best part of a decade. "I win you, bastard... I win."

As Strong grabbed at the fallen man's shirt, jerking the limp body off the ground, much to everybody's surprise, James let out a soft groan.

"You – You're alive...?" Strong shook the mortally injured man. "Good, you bastard, you can answer my questions. Why? What was so special about Ferguson? He was a diplomat working out of Sweden, for god's sake. He was a nobody and you had him killed and you framed a good man for it!" Spittle was forming on the deranged agent's lips as he slapped the dying man on the face. "Matt Baker had a family, a wife and a child. He was my best friend and you destroyed -"

A shot rang out and Strong fell back. Somehow James had found the strength to get hold of his attacker's weapon. Everybody was stunned by the sheer willpower which had not only kept Kendrick alive, but was now giving him the strength to carry on the fight.

With blood bubbling on his lips and his breath coming in a deep shuddering wheeze, James turned his stolen gun on the woman who destroyed his life's work. His hand moved lazily, his vision dimmed. He was dying. But as the gun came to bear on Fiona, it seemed he had found his target.

Michael moved so quickly, nobody was aware of what he was doing until more shots rang out. He pulled Fiona's Walther from her waistband and, in one smooth move, lifted it and fired. One shot hit James between the eyes and a second shot entered his heart. The rogue network was no more. It had taken nearly a year, but Michael Westen had finally removed the head from the snake.

"Jesus!" Sam exclaimed as he rushed towards the downed agent. "Somebody call the paramedics. He's still alive... Jesse, help these guys secure James' team." The former SEAL started barking out orders.

"Michael, Michael, give me the gun." The troubled spy barely heard the words. But when he felt the gentle pull on his hand, he relinquished the weapon without a fight.

"I'm fine, Fi." He saw the concern in her eyes and tried to offer some reassurance.

"No, you're not." She lifted her hand to comb her fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck. "But you will be."

"Hey, Tinkerbell!" Sam called to the Irishwoman.

The petite redhead looked up at the man at her side, gently reaching up to direct his gaze onto her. Staring into his slightly dazed blue eyes, she stroked her hand down his cheek. "Stay here, don't move."

"I -" He went to follow her, but she stopped him with a look.

"Stay here. Sam probably just needs someone to hold his hand."

It seemed slightly surreal to be standing there in the middle of what had been a battle ground and to be at peace. James was dead. Strong… Michael stared down at his injured case officer. Strong had gotten everything he deserved and, with the information off the hard drive in his pocket, once he handed that over, his friends would be safe.

He watched as Sam and Fiona spoke together in low tones while Jesse took control of what was left of Strong's CIA team. He was proud of them all.

()

Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul,  
Don't let me die here  
There must be something more  
Bring me to life

()()()

"Michael, we have to go." Fiona was back at his side.

"Go?" He shook his head. "It's my mission, I have to -"

"Strong must have acted without authorization. He used a CIA team on US soil against a US citizen. There is no way this is going to end well. With Strong injured, the CIA will hang this all on you." She tugged on his arm, urging him to move before one of Strong's men decided the rogue spy they had been trying to apprehend should be in handcuffs.

"But -"

"No buts, Michael. We have to go now. Sam says he and Jesse will be fine. They're civilians and Strong's men all witnessed how they did nothing but follow orders."

He didn't want to leave… this was his mission, his responsibility.

"Now, Michael! If you stay, everything we've done will be for nothing... Is that what you want?"

He shook his head. She was right. He had put his trust in the agency for the last time. He would give them the thumb drive, but only after Sam and Jesse were free and they all had a cast iron agreement.

"Let's get out of here."

Slowly and quietly, the couple slipped away, disappearing down a corridor and eventually finding their way down to the basement and out through a service door. As they fled along the path beside the river, they could hear the loud wail of sirens as the emergency services rushed to the scene.

"We'll get a car from the parking lot I passed getting here. Then you can explain to me what was so important that you couldn't wait for me to help you."

They were running past a dilapidated warehouse waiting to be demolished. The building was far enough away from the scene that it was unlikely it would ever be searched. They had to talk or rather he had to know something before he went any further.

Catching hold of her arm, he gestured for her to stop. "We – I…" He dragged her behind the wall and into the shell of the warehouse.

"Michael, we have to keep moving."

"No, no, I'm not going to run until I -" He paced before her, trying to get the words that he so desperately wanted to say to come out. But his tongue simply refused to cooperate. "We need… I mean, I can't -"

"Michael, Michael, Look at me…" Fiona closed in on him, but he couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye, still fearing another rejection.

"Look. At... Oh, bother wit' ya, ya bloody man."

The breath was forced from his lungs as she slammed him against the wall, her mouth sealing over his as their teeth clashed together. Her fingers combed roughly through his hair, scraping against his skull. She attacked him with the fervor of a woman possessed and he melted into her touch.

()

(Wake me up)  
Wake me up inside  
(I can't wake up)  
Wake me up inside  
(Save me)  
Call my name and save me from the dark

()()()

With each scratch, bite, nip, lick, caress, she brought his damaged soul and wounded heart back to life. They were back where it all began, on some dingy back street of Belfast tearing at each other as the adrenaline still flowed from a job well done. A bomb blast, a gunfight, a sneak attack… it didn't matter what the job was, they were alive and in love.

()

(Wake me up)  
Bid my blood to run  
(I can't wake up)  
Before I come undone  
(Save me)  
Save me from the nothing I've become

()()()

She pushed him away from him suddenly, a strong hand to the center of his chest while grasping his chin painfully tight as she forced him to look directly at her.

"Yer a pig headed idjit, so ya ar', but yer my pig headed idjit an' if' ya ever forgit it ag'in, I'm gonna kick yar arse fram har to Derry, so help me, I am. Do ya hear me, Michael?"

And for the first time in a very long time, a genuine smile graced his weary face and the light of hope shown in his watery blue eyes. The man she loved was back, brought back to life once again.

 

(Bring me to life)


	7. Nothing Else Matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing Else Matters is sung by Metallica and written by James Alan Hetfield & Lars Ulrich. I have just borrowed the lyrics, no copyright infringement is intended.

So close no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
And nothing else matters

()()

"So, you still think staying behind was the right thing to do?" Jesse Porter stared past the two unfriendly looking Miami-Dade police officers who were standing guard over the survivors of the battle, which had taken place less than half an hour ago. "Cuz I gotta say, Sam, I'm not loving the stainless steel jewellery." He raised both arms and jiggled his handcuffed wrists to make his point.

"To be honest, I have a few reservations myself," the older man admitted. His eyes, just like those of his shaven headed counterpart, were firmly fixed on the lively conference taking place on the other side of the room between the police captain, who on arrival at the scene had taken charge, and one of the three uninjured members of Agent Strong's team, who was demanding that the nation's security trumped any minor jurisdiction issues Miami-Dade PD might have. "But somebody needed to stay behind to make sure these bastards don't try to hang all the blame on-. Oh, hel-lo." He gestured with his chin to draw the attention of his friend to the arrival of a whole new group of players.

"You know him?" Jesse asked, as a stocky, sandy haired man dressed in a sharp suit was leading a team of what had to be FBI agents across the room to join in the heated discussion.

"Yeah, we didn't part on the best of terms. I asked him for a favor awhile back and he ended up with more than a little egg of his face. But, as long as there's something in it for him, I should be able to talk him into listening to what I have to say."

The two men watched with interest as the newcomer took immediate charge of the situation by ordering the CIA agent to back down.

"What you and your friends are, Agent Schlesinger, is operating outside of your field of jurisdiction and as such you'll all be held by the FBI until this matter is settled," he called out loud enough to be heard by everybody in the room.

"This is a CIA case. You're interfering in a classified operation. Call my boss. That man…" The agent pointed to the blood soaked body lying nearby. "Is James Kendrick, he was an international terrorist we'd been chasing for-"

"That man," the federal agent answered stiffly, "was an American citizen and this is still the U. S of A, mister. Now, back the hell off... Get him outta my sight. Oh, and just so you know, I've already spoken to Langley and, as far as they're concern, and I quote, the CIA is unaware of any of its agents operating illegally inside the borders of the United States. So, don't expect any help from your bosses."

It was at that moment, as the senior FBI agent was gesturing for the CIA officer to be removed from his sight, that the man's eyes locked on to those of the two civilians standing amongst the other surviving combatants of the recent fire fight.

"Sam Axe..." He took his time doing a long slow sweep of the bomb damaged and bullet riddled room before raising his voice to make sure he would be heard by his one-time informer. "I shoulda guessed you'd be involved. Where's Westen and that girlfriend of his? I take it all this was their work?"

()()()()

Never opened myself this way  
Life is ours, we live it our way  
All these words I don't just say  
And nothing else matters

()()

"Michael…"

He heard her soft call, but chose to ignore it. Instead he continued to stare out of the stolen car window as he tried to wrap his mind round what had just happened. Less than an hour ago, he had been prepared to sacrifice himself in the hope that his death would bring closure to the whole sorry mess which his last assignment for the CIA had turned in to. He had wanted to end it all. But he had failed because she had refused let him go. The woman, who had until recently taken every opportunity to pour scorn upon his head, had now declared her love for him.

"Michael, come on. Move it!" A hard jab to his ribs finally broke through the turmoil filling his head and got his attention.

"Ow! Fi-?" He opened the door and climbed out to join the petite red head, who after poking him in the ribs had moved to front of their stolen vehicle.

Once his Irish lover had brought his soul back to life with a sharp reminder of who they both used to be and the promise of who they could be in the future, she had dragged his ass back onto the street and together they had quickly located a suitable vehicle to aid in their escape.

How they had managed to avoid the police sent out to secure perimeter and the helicopters flying overhead searching for anybody fleeing the scene of carnage back in the Chronicle Building, he had no idea. But an hour after breaking through the service entrance of the former newspaper headquarters, they were now ten miles clear of the search area and back inside the abandoned workshop, which had become their home away from home.

"Fi... Fiona... What are we doing back here?" He gazed over to the work bench where the previous night they had plotted Max Lister's kidnapping, while he had been thinking about how he was going to slip away. "I am not leaving Sam and Jesse behind. This is all my fault. I have to go back and make things right."

She moved so swiftly that when her hands reached up and cupped his cheeks, he gasped in surprise.

"Stop it!" Her blue-green eyes flashed fiercely as her fingers cruelly held him in place. "Ya're actin' like this whole thing is yar fault and I'm sick o' it." Abruptly the flame haired vixen let go of his face and then, using a pointed finger, jabbed him painfully between his eyes. "Any fool can see ya was left out in the cold without proper support, but that's all in the past. You need to move on an' do what we all agreed was the right thing to do. You have to hand over whatever intelligence it tis ya have hidden away... But this time only when ya have a deal we can all live with."

Mr. Westen took hold of her hands, entwining their fingers, letting her fiery passion for life strengthen his resolve to do the right thing for them all.

"I downloaded the hard drive from James' satellite link," he admitted. "It would be invaluable tool for anybody hunting down James' network. It's just who to hand it off to... Last time I saw Strong's boss, he was preparing to throw all of us into a deep hole. I – I don't trust -"

The Irish woman halted his words by invading his personal space, pressing her lithe body up against his as she stood on her tiptoes to place a kiss firmly on his lips.

"I know this is difficult for you, but who do you trust?" she asked as she stepped back again to give him room to think.

"You," he answered without hesitation.

"Thank you, Michael," Fiona smiled at his declaration. "But there must be somebody left in the CIA who you still believe in. You worked for these people for over twenty years. There must be one person left you trust to help you make a deal."

Michael swallowed thickly and looked away. There was maybe one. "Raines... Raines has the clearance. He played fair when I handed him Management, and Vaughn. He might be willing to help us."

"Another coincidence? It must be something about this place. Not only where we spent our last night together before the CIA whisked you away all those years ago, but now we have another thumb drive to trade too," she quipped.

It felt like his heart stuttered. A burning pain shot through his chest and he pulled her back into his arms. "This is nothing like before," he spoke quickly. "I swear… I'm doing this for you - for us."

The admission was torn from him. To open himself up this way broke the last chains forged by a life time of hiding his vulnerabilities.

Unwelcome images flashed into his brain…stepping off the private plane, which had carried him and Strong from the DR to the hurriedly set up field office on the outskirts of Miami, standing before the monitor screening the activity in Fiona's new home, doing his best to disguise his jealousy behind professional interest as he watched her exchange passionate kisses with another man, her new boyfriend.

He'd still had hope back then that it would be just like all the other times when he'd returned after disappearing without a word. An argument about his abysmal relationship skills followed by his profuse apology for being such a terrible boyfriend before they reconnected… until the next time he snuck away in the middle of the night to answer the call to duty.

But his first sight of her was quickly followed by his last memory of that particular day. Of her casual thank you for saving her life, followed by her calm dismissal, as with one light brush of her lips to his cheek, she had figuratively slammed the door in his face.

"Tell me what you want me to do, Fi? Cuz I don't know any more and I'm sick of getting things wrong."

()()()()

Trust I seek and I find in you  
Every day for us something new  
Open mind for a different view  
And nothing else matters

()()

Wriggling in the tight embrace of the troubled spy, Fiona eventually managed to get her hands up against his chest and create a little space between them. She could feel his heart beating wildly under her palms as she held him at bay, determined to get him to concentrate on bringing his scattered emotions under control.

"I want what I've always wanted, Michael, you at my side and you wanting to be there... I've never hidden from you how much I hated your government work, the things they made you do. I never trusted their promises. That man Chambers, in Belfast, how many times did he nearly get you killed? Tom Card…" She spat the name out. "And Strong was just as bad, if not worse."

Fiona paused and sighed heavily, one look telling her this wasn't what he needed to hear just now. "I guess right now the thing I want most is for you to be clear in your head about what you want before you make contact with Raines and start making decisions for us all."

()()()()

Never cared for what they do  
Never cared for what they know

()()

She watched and waited for him to make the next move, staring up and noting the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down while he gazed over the top of her head lost in thought. Then, at an almost glacial speed, Michael released her from his embrace and stepped back. And this time when he made eye contact, she could see a determined glint in the deep blue orbs.

()()()()

But I know…

()()

"We're not going to trade the thumb drive," the ex-spy announced firmly, holding up a hand when she went to voice her objections. "I'm going to contact Raines, and tell him exactly where to find James' satellite feed -"

"You're just going to hand over -"

"Yes Fi, I am, but if you'll let me finish… They're going to find it eventually, so it's better for us if we give them the location. But when I do, I'm also going to fill him in with all the details – the things Strong ordered me to do." He shook his head as if to clear away all the painful memories of the last year. "And then I'm going to tell him that unless he comes up with a deal which we can all live with," he parroted her words back at her. "I will take the copy I made of James' hard drive and I will start warning everyone on it that the CIA is coming after them."

"Michael!" She couldn't believe he was ready to go as far as to threaten the agency he had sworn allegiance to.

"It's a risk, I know that…" He let his hands fall heavily upon her shoulders, keeping her in place while he leaned forward so they were almost nose to nose. "But it's the only way, Fi. Nothing has changed. I am not giving anybody at the CIA the opportunity to use me again, not after Card, not after what Strong did to me…never again."

The hands which had been resting lightly on her shoulders had now tightened into a painful grip and an unsettling maniacal edge had crept into the voice of the troubled spy as he continued to rant.

"I served my country, I believed every word they told me, I did every dirty job they sent my way, and I was damned good at it... And how did they repay my loyalty?" The former covert operative let go of her abruptly, turning away to stalk across the dust covered floor to the work bench still holding the maps they had used to plot the satellite specialist route to work. "They believed the lies about me, they tossed me out in the cold and destroyed my life. They freed Simon to do their dirty work! They're just as corrupt as the people that burned me-"

"Michael, shhh…" Fiona followed him, tentatively reaching out to try to calm the man she loved before he spun completely out of control. "It's over, or it will be soon." She rubbed her hand up and down his back feeling the stiff muscles under the sweat stained T-shirt. "I need you; we need you to calm down. Your Mom, Charlie, Sam and Jesse, they're all relying on you. I'm relying on you too."

He perked up, turning to face her. "You're going to let me save you?" A hint of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth, softening the rest of his expression, which was incredulous.

"Aye, just this once, ya can be me white knight. But thot don' mean ya get ta run off by yarself tryin' ta protect me, protect us, and take it all on yar own back again." Her palm ghosted lightly over his cheek. "Ya need ta accept thot this damsel in distress carries her own supplies o' C-4 and she isn't afraid ta use it." His returned lover captured his face in both her hands once more, making sure she had his full attention. "We're a team, Michael. We plan together, we execute together and we save each other… together. Don't ever forget that again."

()()()()

So close no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
And nothing else matters

()()

"Thank you, Fi." He revelled in her touch, using the moment to anchor his turbulent emotions and gain some control.

After taking a couple of deep breaths, Michael took hold of her hands and held them before him. "I suppose I should tell you the rest... Raines got a big promotion from bringing down Management and Vaughn. He's on the President's Advisory Board. Part of his job is to investigate and report illegal intelligence activities to the Justice Department and then brief the President... Raines will have to act. Strong was - well, you know what he was, or at least some of it."

"If this is true, you don't need to keep hold of that thumb drive..." As she spoke, he was shaking his head in denial. But the former guerilla continued to talk, determined to make him listen. "Threatening a-"

"James had people in all sorts of positions, in government, the intelligence services, private contractors… This is never going to be over, Fi. They will either try to force me back in to clean up their mess, or they'll kill me to cover it up. I know it... unless I stop them." He paused, releasing his hold on her hands. "What's on this thumb drive is our insurance. I'm finally putting an end to this. I thought I made that clear."

"Okay, okay." She was shocked at the level of anger and disillusionment pouring out of him. "If you need to do things this way, I trust you." Fiona fought briefly with him until he accepted her embrace. "I trust you. We all believe in you. Sam and Jesse stayed behind because they believe in you." Slowly he relaxed again, coming back to her. But she could sense the unbridled rage and suspicion bubbling just under the surface.

()()()()

Never cared for what they do  
Never cared for what they know

()()

"I have to make a call, try to make contact with Raines, before Strong's bosses shuts it all down and paint a bull's eye on my forehead."

"Well, luckily, I still have my phone on me and a selection of unused SIMs. That was something else we organized while you were gone." She handed him her cell and watched expectantly as he keyed in a number.

"Hello? Put me through to William Raines. Tell him it's Michael Westen and I have some first-hand intelligence he needs to hear, right now."

()()()()

But I know…

()()

After the arrival of the FBI, things began to move fast for the three undamaged members of Strong's team and the two civilians caught up in the highly questionable actions of the rogue CIA operatives. As Special Agent in Charge Harris began to bark out orders, Sam and Jesse along with the others were transported in two SUVs over to the Federal Building and from there handcuffed to tables in separate interrogation rooms to quote "be kept incommunicado until somebody could sort out the CIA's latest little misadventure."

Having been left alone, sitting on an uncomfortable steel chair for close to two hours, Sam entertained himself by running through the various interrogation techniques he could expect to face. As a former SEAL who had been involved in more than a couple of dozen Q and A sessions, he considered himself an expert in these matters. It wasn't the methods he was concerned about. He was, after all, sitting in the Federal Building in down town Miami and not some cave hidden in the Afghan mountains. When the Feds got round to him, Mr. Axe knew there would be recordings of what was said and done during the interview. It was more how much he should spill.

"Mikey, I sure hope you're doin' the right thing out there," he muttered under his breath and just then the door swung open. In a louder voice, he greeted his old blackmailer.

"Hey, Harris, you seem to have done well for yourself. Look at you, a big chief now, instead of one of the Indians."

The two men eyed each other as Agent Harris dropped a set of folders down on the table between them and pulled up a chair. Unbuttoning his jacket and crossing one leg over the other, the man with the sandy blonde hair took his time getting comfortable until finally he was ready to begin.

"Well, well, Sam Axe... I heard after your last run in with those stuff shirts up in Langley you'd got yourself a rich sugar mommy and settled down. So what in the blue blazes were you and your friend Porter doing hanging out with a bunch of rogue spooks?"

Sam ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. This was tricky. He had no idea what Mike might be up to, though he did have faith that the little Irish leprechaun at his side would keep the unstable spy thinking straight.

The real experts in resisting interrogation aren't the ones who stonewall in silence. They're the ones who have mastered the art of talking about nothing, pretending to cooperate, throwing out endless leads.

"It's a long and complicated story, Harris," he answered with a long almost theatrical sigh.

"That's okay, Axe," Harris smiled back easily. "You're not going anywhere until I hear the whole sorry tale."

"Alrighty then," the former SEAL suddenly grinned. "How about a drink and a bite to eat while I talk? You know, just like the old days, a Cuban sandwich and a beer, just to lubricate the old vocal chords?"

Harris stared back stonily, his blue eyes boring into those of his prisoner as if he hoped to extract the information he wanted by the sheer power of his mind.

"Okay, I get it, playing hard ball." Sam's smile never slipped. "How far back do you want me to go? I mean to be honest, what happened today began about a year ago."

()()()()

Never opened myself this way  
Life is ours, we live it our way

()()

The call had lasted less than ten minutes. He had been too wary to spend any long talking when he knew a trace would have been started as soon as he identified himself. Ten minutes trying to convince the man who had recruited him into the CIA all those years ago that it would be worth his time to find out what was going on within clandestine affairs and in particular with one rogue agent.

"Westen? Why the hell are you calling me?" were the words of greeting which had come from the phone.

"And hello to you too," He snapped back without thinking.

"I'm sure this isn't a social call, so what do you want, spit it out I'm kinda busy."

He had expected the anger and the palpable dislike in the older man's tone. Twenty years ago, William Raines and Tom Card had been a team of a sort. Raines the recruiter, handing over the best of his recruits to be trained by his good friend, Card. He also remembered how proud they had been of their star pupil for many years, garnering laurels themselves from the Agency for his accomplishments. That had ended when he had put a bullet between the other man's eyes.

"Yeah, Raines, I'm sure it's been hell keeping up with all the shadow organizations and rogue agents in the Company these days. So, let me make this easy for you. You need to check out what's happening in Miami. By now, the FBI should be investigating a shoot-out between two groups of heavily armed men and a series of explosions in an abandoned building down town. The man responsible is a CIA officer called Andrew Strong and this isn't the first time he has gone off the reservation. You know me, Raines, you know I'm no boy scout. But this, this is a whole lot more than bending a few rules."

"Slow down, Michael. Let me -"

"There is no time... I know you don't trust me any more and I know you're already running a trace, trying to track me down. But if you give me a chance and listen…Take look into what happened in Vera Cruz, Mexico last week. That was Strong, he was desperate to get a result and too rash to wait for the proper clearance. So he tried to pull off an unsanctioned extraction in the middle of the day. An entire street was shot up in full view of the locals, a team of mercs were killed, one whom was Simon Esher, an international terrorist, a killer. A man who was supposed to be in a CIA prison..."

Michael paused, the idea of Simon leading that extraction team still twisting in his guts.

"A week before that, on Tenerife, in the Canary Islands, Roger Steele, you've heard of him, right? The negotiator – the mediator... Strong knew the group I had infiltrated planned to assassinate Steele. I gave him all the details. He could have saved Rogers' life, but he refused to warn him or to pull him out... Roger had a lot of friends, Raines, and all those friends are out looking into what he was doing before he was killed and for the man he was on his way to meet. That's me, in case you're interested..."

Roger had been a friend… a friend still trying to help him when he'd put a bullet in his chest…

"And before that, in the DR, Marco Cabral was an MI-6 asset. The Brits were about to extract him, but he disappeared. Do I have to spell out for you what happened to him? You think our closest allies will just take that lying down? Or how about Biloxi Mississippi, a mental patient was removed from General Hospital, an American, a former Special Forces soldier, removed from a hospital to be interrogated by the CIA."

"That's a lot of accusations, Westen. But you know what the job is. If there's no direct evidence-"

"You think all of that will stay hidden? All it'll take is just one investigator to pull at a thread and this whole thing will unravel and become public knowledge... Is that what you want? You want to have to explain to the President that you knew all this but did nothing to stop it coming out? Or better yet, would you like to tell him you were completely ignorant AGAIN of what was going on inside the Agency? Of course, the easy way out would be just to blame me again. Only you can't burn me again, Raines. You can't sit back and wait for Tom Card to have me and my friends killed so he can keep running his dirty little secret black bag ops. Or maybe you'd like to spring Olivia Riley to do your dirty work? Just like somebody else did when they turned Simon Escher loose!"

It was only the soft hand on his shoulder and the gentle touch of lips grazing his cheek which calmed and centered him enough to return to the matter at hand. Taking a deep breath, he continued.

"But I have something that might help. Send someone in to the Chronicle Building. Tell them to go up to the sixth floor, Room 615 and they'll find James Kendrick's communication relay station. There's a back-up hard drive holding enough intel to completely shut down his terrorist network before somebody else in the ranks steps up to take over. I'm giving you the key to-"

"Quit with all the mealy mouthed I-just-want-to-help BS. I do know you, Westen. You're no saint. I know you killed Tom Card and destroyed Olivia Riley's career. You wouldn't be telling me any of this if there wasn't something in it for you. You think this is going to erase your record? Get you back in the good graces of-"

"Never mind about me, my reputation couldn't get any blacker. You've all seen to that. It's the CIA who can't afford any more bad press, Raines. You really want to end up fielding questions from MI-6? Or what about all Roger Steele's friends? You're talking about all those intelligence agencies from all over the world who used him as an asset. And how are relations with the Mexican government right now? You think their going to be happy about hosting a CIA war? What's the CIA Director of the damned United States gonna do when he's sitting in front of his own Church Committee in Congress with you explaining that he sanctioned this whole sorry operation that yielded exactly squat. You've got nothing without the intel on Kendrick's organization"

"You think you can try to blackmail your way out of this again?"

"I'm giving you everything you need to clear up a mess made by one of your agents. James Kendrick's network spanned the world. You start pulling the names of his operatives off that hard drive and all those countries pissed at the CIA will start coming around when you can pinpoint Kendrick's operatives working in their governments and intelligence agencies. As for saving the CIA's ass, all I want in return is a guarantee that me and my friends are left out of it all and left alone for good. It's a win-win for everyone. You get to be the hero and you never have to hear from me again."

"Michael, if you think that-"

"This isn't a request, Raines. I want out! My friends and family are kept safe or I take the copy I made of the hard drive and start making calls, letting the people on there know they need to run..."

He stopped and drew a harsh breath in through his nose, letting the threat sink in fully.

"Strong wanted the old Michael Westen, the one who got things done. Well, he's here now, the unstoppable sonuvabitch you recruited, the relentless bastard Tom Card trained and the stone-cold killer you all keep asking for... I'll call you back in six hours. Six hours is enough time to check out what I've given you and come up with the guarantees I want. After that, I start making phone calls."

He ended the conversation there, Fiona tapping on the face of her wristwatch reminding him that his time was up.

"We have to go." Even as he spoke, he was pulling the phone apart, removing the battery and the SIM.

"Come on, Michael. Just leave the whole phone, I have more." Fiona was already at the door, her gun in her hand, peering out through a gap in the rotten wood.

"They couldn't have gotten here that quickly... not with the trace and then getting a team together."

Michael joined her, pulling the door open wide and stepping outside, his mind still reeling at the enormity of what he had just done. If Tom Card and Larry Sizemore had been father figures, William Raines had been a benevolent and beloved uncle.

"How about the FBI or the police? We have every branch of law enforcement tracking us down at the moment." His forward progress was halted by a slender hand taking a tight hold on his arm. "So, slow down and think before you go chargin' off."

"Okay, I'll slow down, but can we get going?"

"Follow me," she ordered and then, just before she set off, she slapped his arm. "Stay close, no wandering off."

Regardless of Fiona's previous comment, they ran swiftly through the abandoned industrial area until they reached a quiet parking, lot where they found yet another car to steal.

"You keep watch," the ex-terrorist ordered as she bent down to pick the lock. "See? Less than twenty seconds and I'm not going to be sitting on a load o' glass."

She slid into the driver's seat and set about breaking the steering lock and bypassing the ignition switch. "Care to join me?"

With the engine running, Ms. Glenanne leaned over and opened the passenger door for him.

Driving within the speed limits and using streets with no traffic cameras, it took nearly an hour to make it to a storage locker she had hidden away in Little Haiti. "We should be fine here until you call Raines back. I've not used this place for over two years."

"Good." Michael wearily slid down the wall, ending up sitting on the cold concrete with his legs splayed in front of him.

"Hey, are you okay?"

He watched through half open eyes as she closed the door and joined him.

"Yeah, I think so." He chewed on his bottom lip as she waited patiently for him to continue. "I – I've never -"

"We're free, Michael," the Irishwoman whispered in his ear. "I know it's scary for you. But we get to live our lives how we want to."

"The difference between living and living free," the ex-spy finally answered, his mind dragging the memory of their last few hours in a Derry hotel room to the fore.

"You remembered." She wriggled closer, lifting his arm so it draped over her shoulder and allowed her to wrap her arms about his waist.

"I told ya befer, luv, I remember everythin' ya ever tol' me." He kissed the top of her head, nuzzling her unbrushed mane of red-gold hair taking in the scent of gunpowder and explosives. L'parfum de Fiona….

"Good, you can remember this then." The petite woman shifted position again, now straddling his legs, his hands on her thighs while her own rested on his shoulders. "From now on, there's you and me and nothing else matters." She leaned forward to place a gossamer soft kiss to his lips, her fingers beginning to gently massage the tension from his shoulders and neck. "We can do whatever we want, go wherever we choose." She peppered his mouth with more kisses, until he held her tight and captured her lips with his own.

Deepening the kiss, their teeth crashing together until they surrendered to each other and their tongues danced and swirled. All too soon, he drew back and eased her around so she was sitting on his lap, her head tucked under his chin.

"You and me and nothing else matters," Michael repeated her words back to her, his voice laced with fatigue.

She didn't reply. With one hand over his heart, she waited in silence until his heartbeat slowed and then slowly freed herself from his embrace. As she got to her feet, Fiona saw he was watching her, his blue eyes wide but unfocused.

"Go ta sleep, Michael. I'm gonna keep watch."

()()()()

All these words I don't just say  
And nothing else matters

()()

Sam had been held in the small interrogation room, handcuffed to the table with no food or drink for over four hours. He had hoped when Harris had been called from the room a little over an hour earlier that somebody would have thought to feed the prisoner. But no, Sam's stomach groaned and whined at the lack of attention and the ex-SEAL, not for the first time, scowled angrily at the locked door and tried to get his mind off the selection of Krispy Kreme donuts he had made Jesse stop to buy for breakfast on their way out to set up the aborted ambush in the Everglades.

Using his arms as a cushion, Sam laid his head down on the table and closed his eyes. If they weren't going to feed him and they didn't have any more questions for him, he was going to take the opportunity to catch up on some much needed sleep.

"Hey, Axe, get your head off the table." Harris was back in the room, his grim set features had the sleep fuddled former sailor wondering what had happened.

"Huh?" was all he managed as when he tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes and one wrist was stopped short with a harsh jerk.

"You're free to go." The blond agent gestured with a nod of his head for his subordinate to step forward and release the prisoner.

"Free? Okay, not that I'm ungrateful, but why?" Had Mikey handed himself in or been captured and was now taking the blame solely on his shoulders again?

"The order came from higher up the food chain. All you have to do is sign this..." A thin folder landed on the table before him along with a pen. "And you can walk outta that door."

Sam flicked the cover back and found a single sheet of paper inside. "Looks like a pretty standard non-disclosure agreement." He began to read the details and, by the time he had reached the bottom of the page, he was frowning. "I have to stay within the City of Miami? For how long?"

"Just sign the damn paper, Axe, some us still have work to do," Harris answered impatiently.

"Can you at least tell me-"

"I only know what I was told. The order came down to get you to sign this agreement and get you out of the building. Go spend some time with that rich girlfriend of yours and stay out of trouble."

Knowing he wasn't going to get any more information from the blond man, the former Navy man made his signature with a flourish and handed the folder and pen back to Agent Harris.

"Sam," Harris spoke one last time as the dark haired man went to rush past. "Take my advice, stay out of FBI or CIA business. You or Porter interfere in an ongoing investigation and all deals will be off."

Sam nodded solemnly. He had no idea what had just happened. But somebody had made the FBI back off and he could think of only one man who could have done it.

()()()()

Trust I seek and I find in you  
Every day for us something new

()()

Michael sat on a folding chair Ms. Glenanne had produced from the back of her storage locker, staring at the cheap burner cell phone also supplied by the redhead, which was resting on the upturned wooden crate that had been procured from the alleyway running between where they were hiding and the boarded up building next door.

"It's been six hours, Michael." She sat down on another chair facing him over the make shift table. "We need to know how bad things are going to get. If we're gonna have to break Sam and Jesse out of a federal prison, I'm gonna need to get me hands on some more C-4."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he mumbled softly and lifted the phone, testing its weight before keying in the number.

"It's Michael Westen for William Raines. I believe he's expecting my call." Michael put the phone on loud speaker and placed it back on the wooden surface. When he saw the way she was looking at him, he felt the need to explain. "Together, remember? You said we're in this together."

"Westen... It looks like you landed on your feet again. I always said you were like a cat, though I think this time you've used up what's left of your nine lives." Raines' voice came through loud and clear, focusing the couple's attention on the phone rather than each other.

"I take it we have a deal then?"

"Sam Axe and Jesse Porter have been cleared of any wrong doing and have already been released from federal custody. They have both agreed to keep quiet about Agent Strong and any assistance they may have given to the CIA... Is Miss Glenanne with you?" The older man was all business.

"You're on loudspeaker, she can hear you," Mr. Westen answered, his hand reaching across the table to take her hand.

"Miss Glenanne, you, just like Axe and Porter, have been cleared. It was noted in your file that you resisted in aiding Agent Strong and it was only after he visited you in a Miami holding cell that he'd put you in that you agreed to work with him. As such, once you have signed a non-disclosure document, you are free to do whatever it is you do."

"And my mom, Strong was threatening to-"

"Your mother is of no interest to the CIA, likewise your nephew. But now we come to you, Michael. Our analysts in the Miami office have only just begun to go through that hard drive, but they have already pulled off a couple of important names. People who are positions to do a lot of damage... And that has earned you the gratitude of the Agency. But that doesn't pardon you from the things you've done. What the CIA is offering you is non-negotiable, a take it or leave it deal."

"Get to the point, Raines," Michael sighed.

"Fine and, for the record, it's not my gratitude but that of the Company. As a thank you for this and other work you have done for your country, the CIA is offering to expunge your record, clear your reputation and offer you your full pension and a protection package. In return for that generosity, all the Agency wants is the copy you made of the hard drive and for your signature on a guarantee that you will stay out of Florida and not make contact with Porter or Axe."

"You want me to hand over my only piece of leverage?" the former covert operative came to his feet. "And if I say no?"

"Your friends and family are in the clear, nothing will change that. But you, if you refuse to hand over everything you have on Strong or on the mission, including that thumb drive, your name will be at the top of all the watch lists. Think about it, Michael. Trust me when I say the Agency doesn't want to hear from you ever again, any more than you want to hear from us. Don't do anything stupid."

"And not contacting my friends? Why -"

"It was the one thing Strong got right at the beginning. Keeping you separated from the ragtag team you've built up. Ms. Glenanne can either go with you or be left behind in Miami. But the Agency will not allow you to continue operating the network you've built up over the last seven years."

"Michael..." Fiona was in front of him, her hand cupping his stubble covered cheek. "It's so close to what we want." She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "You don't have to trust him. Trust who we are... Together."

He nodded; she was right. He didn't completely trust the CIA, but he wasn't a traitor either. "Okay Raines, you can have everything. How are we going to do this?"

"I take it you don't want to do things the easy way and walk into the Federal Building, sign the papers and hand over the drive?" Michael could see Raines' exasperated expression in his mind's eye. It almost made him smile…almost… "So where do you want to set up the hand over. We don't have long. We want to jump on Strong as soon as he's well enough to answer questions."

"Strong's alive?" This was news. Neither of them had said it, but they had both thought the CIA officer had died from his wounds.

"Yes, he got out of surgery a couple of hours back. The surgeons at Mercy say he's going to make it. But by the end of this inquiry, I guarantee he is going to wish he hadn't."

I cannot get captured again.......  
The softly accented words echoed in the dark haired man's mind as if he was hearing them from far away. He swallowed and glanced up guiltily at the woman who had stolen his heart. But another woman's voice still whispered in his subconscious.  
They tortured me for two solid weeks and I held out. I can't do it again. And if I break, we lose everything and I won't betray my friends.......

"How about we do the trade at the hospital?" he announced to the surprise of the redhead who was watching him closely.

"You want to do this inside a hospital?"

"Plenty of people about, lots of exits and like you said, Raines, you know me. You know if I smell a trap ---- Well, let's just say a fire fight in the middle of a hospital would be hard to explain, especially when you're getting everything you want. Besides I want to see Strong. I want to be the one to let him know what he's facing."

"You were never vindictive, Michael. Why now?"

"People change, Raines. I've changed. We do the trade at the hospital in two hours and I get to see Strong afterwards."

"In one hour and you have a deal."

"Fine, give me the details. Where do I meet your guy?"

()()()()

Open mind for a different view  
And nothing else matters

()()

"Tell me again why you agreed to meet up with Raines' operative inside a busy hospital? It's going to be a tactical nightmare covering you, if I can cover you." Fiona was almost jogging to keep up with the dark haired former spy's long strides as they made their way along a path through a small park on their way towards a parking lot at the other end.

"Because I want a chance to say goodbye," came the cryptic reply.

"Goodbye? To Strong? Oh, Please, why would you want to waste your time on him?? You didn't even know he was alive until ---" His lithe companion nearly crashed into him when he came to a sudden stop.

He had known it was foolish, trying to keep secrets from the one person who knew him better than himself.

"I'm not going there to say goodbye or to gloat." He took a deep breath and then, looking anywhere but into her blue green eyes, he made his confession. "I – I want to find out where the CIA is holding Sonya -"

"And why would you want to see that bitch?" Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of her right hand forming a tight fist.

Not wanting a fight, especially in the middle of an open space, Michael went for the only other option and caught her up in his arms, holding her close in a very public display of affection, stopping her words and belaying the soon to be flying fists with a kiss. "She's -"

"Your lover," the Irishwoman snapped back, breaking his hold and stepping away.

"Can we not do this now? What I... I thought you had moved on. You were living with someone. That day... that day at Carlito's when you said... you told me it was already over... for us. I just – I – I had a job to do. She was a means to an end... but that's in the past."

"So why is she so important to you now?" Her angry eyes narrowed in a display of jealousy which at another time he might have found interesting. But not now, when their chance of a life together was so close.

"You heard what Strong said." He inched closer, ready to duck and block if any one of her lethal appendages came at him, hoping the tiny spitfire could empathize with what he wanted to do. "She fought right to the end. They have her in Intensive Care. If she's as bad as he made out... If she's that bad... She once said to me.... What she said..... nobody should have to exist like that." He was so relieved when she got his meaning. Her hand, no longer being held as a weapon, settled over his heart and the look of jealousy fell away.

"I'll help you, Michael. I'll do it for you."

She pushed down her feelings for the younger blonde woman, who had nearly succeeded in destroying her lover's soul. If saying goodbye to the cold-hearted bitch meant her soul mate could move on, she could put away her feelings and help him.

Michael leaned down and kissed her tenderly, always more comfortable showing her how he felt than talking about it. His lover returned the affection, knowing that they had both hurt in each other deeply over the past year.

"Look, we don't have a lot of time left before you have to hand over that drive..." she said, breaking the embrace. "You go ahead and meet up with Dixon. I have to make a couple of phone calls."

She saw his questioning look and continued. "While you were in the DR, I did a job with Carlos; a nurse who works at Mercy was having problems with an ex-boyfriend who refused to get the message they were over. She owes me a favor. I'm going to call her and see if she can find out if there is a Russian cyka in ICU being watched over by lots of heavily armed men. That way if your old girlfriend is there, maybe my friend can help you get into see her."

He nodded and sighed. "Thank you, Fi."

"Don't thank me yet, not until you make it out of that hospital in one piece. Now go get that NOC list copied and hidden away while I trace Sonya's whereabouts."

()()()()

Never cared for what they say

()()

"He's in there... Mister Raines said you could have five minutes... I'll wait out here."

The middle-aged expressionless agent dressed in an immaculate and expensive dark-colored suit held the door open to a small side room on the third floor of Mercy Hospital.

"Thank you, Agent –? Sorry, I don't remember getting your name."

"No, you didn't. You're eating into your five minutes, sir." The agent kept up the same poker face he had worn ever since they had met inside the foyer of the hospital.

Walking into the room, Michael took in the line of monitors beside the bed and the spiders web of wires which went from the machines to the pale looking figure lying in the bed.

Fiona had already managed to discover the location of the CIA's high value prisoner and was hopefully working on clearing him a path to the room. But that didn't mean he didn't have a few questions for the senior field agent.

Reaching the bed, he rested his hands on the safety rail and leaned forward so he could be face to face with the man whose obsession with Randall Burke, and then James Kendrick, had nearly destroyed his soul and turned him into a traitor.

"Mi-kal... Mi-kal, wha', what are you – doing here?" the older man's voice was weak and rough from the effects of the ventilator he had been on a few hours earlier.

"I was given permission to see you." He used his professional "trust me" smile. "I was – concerned you were going to die, that bullet... What made you move in on Kendrick like that, without securing your prisoner?"

"I guess I was... It meant a lot to me, finally getting him. I guess I forgot how dangerous he was."

"You said something, something about Ferguson?"

"James had him killed. He was a diplomat in Sweden... I always thought it was Randall Burke," he smiled wearily and reached out for the hand gripping the rail. "Thank you... I thought... I thought you had turned against the agency, I'd reported... Never mind, I'll tell them it -"

"It's been cleared up." Michael moved his hand out of the way, not even wanting to feel the other's touch. "So who was he, the man whose death sent you on a decade long quest?"

"My best friend, my only friend. We went to high school together and law school. He went into the diplomatic Corps, I joined the Agency."

All this had been for one man's revenge and he didn't even know why his friend had had to die.

The ex-spy shook his head sadly. It was time to break the news to the disgraced and incompetent Agent Strong.

"You're done, pal," he leaned in close so nobody listening in would be able to hear what he had to say. "You give new meaning to the word despised. In addition to your impressive list of felonies, you disrespected and brought into disrepute the greatest intelligence agency in the world. The CIA, the NSA, NCTC, everybody, every intelligence organization, will be calling for your head on a pike... Which means you get to look forward to spending the rest of your life in a dark hole."

"What? What are you saying?" Strong reached out, his arm flailing weakly as he tried to grab hold of the man before him.

But Mr. Westen easily brushed the hand away. "You're the one who wanted the old Michael Westen back. You should be thanking Fiona Glenanne right now. If it wasn't for her and Sam and Jesse, the old Michael Westen would have ended you weeks ago... Enjoy what's left of your life, Agent Strong." He turned away and without a backward glance left the room and followed Raines' lackey through the hospital corridors and back out on to the street.

()()()()

Never cared for games they play

()()

Dressed in a set of hospital scrubs, with the blue cotton hat pulled low over his ears and brow hiding his dark hair, and with a face mask concealing his features, Michael walked confidently along the empty corridor following the directions he had memorized from his short talk with Fiona's former client, Nurse Katrina Newark, when she had opened a door to the hospital which was normally kept locked at night.

"I'm going to be waiting for you outside the main entrance. We'll make a big show of driving off... Where did you tell Raines we were going?"

Fiona had managed to get her former client on side and also had the beginnings of a plan by the time he had finished with Sam's computer genius buddy, Dixon. Now when he handed Raines' operative the thumb drive, he could be confident if he ever needed some leverage he had it, encrypted and safely stored away in the hands of their mutual friend Barry Burkowski.

"New Orleans... We'll have to head out that way to pick up my Mom and Charlie," he had answered her query.

"So we let Raines' surveillance team follow us for a while and then give them the slip and head back here. Katrina is working the night shift. So she can sneak you in through a back door which is normally kept locked over night. I also talked her into distracting the guards on the door to Sonya's room for you. She doesn't normally work in that part of the hospital. But she says she can borrow one of the other nurse's IDs. You'll only have a few minutes for your goodbyes, so no hanging around and getting yourself captured."

The redhead gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Jus' remember thot if I have ta break ya out o' prison, Am gonna totally kick yar arse when I get me hands on ya again," had been her parting words as he walked off to hand over the thumb drive and get his meeting with Strong.

Reaching the corner before the last short straight stretch to his goal, Michael paused, his ears straining as he caught the sound of a soft feminine voice followed by the two masculine ones replying. Then, taking a deep breath, he began to walk towards the trio, only letting the breath out as the guards followed the young woman towards the nursing station at the other end of the room.

"I am so sorry about this. I know you have a job to do. I don't know what possessed me to think I could carry all this equipment at once...If you guys could just help me lug these over to the nurses station, it would be a big help. It won't take a minute, I promise."

Silently sliding into the room, the ex-operative went straight to the side of his former asset. Or had she been his handler? He was still a little confused about where they had actual stood. She looked small and terribly fragile, like a broken doll lying completely still, her chest rising and falling in time with the whooshing noises coming from the ventilator beside the bed.

He knew about her injuries. Fiona had gotten the details from her former client. A third of her brain damaged beyond any hope of repair, unlikely to ever regain consciousness. A shattered pelvis, broken ribs, a collapsed lung and a bullet damaged left arm, which would if she survived her injuries need amputating... Her body had become her prison instead of metal bars.

()()()()

Never cared for what they do

()()

Michael blinked away a tear. He hadn't loved her. There had been times when he hadn't even liked her. But Sonya Lebendenko had earned his respect and, over the months they had been together, he had grown fond of the young woman.

Leaning over, he put his mouth next to her ear. "I'm sorry this happened to you. I didn't plan on things ending this way. I – I can only do one thing for you."

He leant in further as if to press a kiss to her forehead, a final farewell, but stopped himself. There could be no evidence he had ever been in the room. Standing back upright, he checked his watch. He had barely any time left.

Staring at the machine which was keeping the young woman alive, the dark haired former spy swiped a hand over his eyes, trying to rid his mind of all his memories of the young woman he was about to kill. He remembered her smile, her sadness at never getting to visit Rio, her curiosity about what it meant to have a relationship.

He reached out, turning off the alarms and then, going to the back of the machine, he opened the service panel and pulled a couple of the wires before screwing the panel shut. Raines would suspect, but there would be no actual proof as long as he wasn't caught.

He waited only long enough to witness Sonya Lebendenko take her last soft sighing breath before leaving the room in the same manner he had entered. Dashing back along the corridor, through a fire door and then up several flights of stairs to the roof top.

()()()()

Never cared for what they know

()()

"Is it done?" Fiona demanded as she helped him out of the scrubs and into thick leather pants and a matching jacket.

"She's gone," he confirmed. The dark haired man held a palm to her cheek, staring into her eyes, not knowing what to say, saying thank you with his misty blue eyes, grateful for everything she'd done for him, for saving him.

"Good..." this lover declared firmly and he gasped as she zipped him into his new attire. "Then let's be gone, befer they come lookin' fer us."

She led the way across the roof to where two climbing ropes hung off the side of the building.

"Ladies first," the truly former spy grinned at her as he handed her a set of thick gloves.

"Together, Michael, always together." She refused to move until he had on his own gloves on and they left the roof top side by side, rappelling down as fast as they could.

At the bottom, Fiona gave both ropes a hard shake and they slithered down. Gathering up the ropes she stuffed them into the saddle bags of her waiting motorcycle, while Michael was pulling on the crash helmet hanging off the handlebars of the second powerful machine.

Then with her own headgear in place, they rode away the engines of the two large powerful sportsbikes carrying them towards their new lives.

()()

And I know...

()()()()()

A month had passed, a long boring month where nothing happened and life slowly got back to pre-Michael Westen normal. Sam spent his most of his days out by the pool at either the Star Island mansion or in the VIP area of the Chadwick Hotel.

"Mr Axe?"

Sam opened his eyes and squinted up at the uniformed pool boy standing smartly at the side of the sun lounger. "Hey Edgar, what's up?" He made the point of knowing all the hotel staff by their first names.

"This letter was delivered to the front desk. It's marked urgent."

Sitting up, Sam swung his feet on to the the decking and took the proffered plain white envelope. "Did they say anything else?"

"No, just some young guy came in and said he'd been paid to hand this to reception."

"Uh-huh." The older man carefully opened one side and tipped out the contents into his hand: a plain white card business card with neatly printed script on one side.

Audubon Indoor Gun Range  
New Orleans, LA  
Owned and Operated by  
Daniel Germaine & Josephine St. Claire

He eagerly turned the card over, hoping to find a phone number and was disappointed when he realized there was none. "Well, it's first contact I suppose," he muttered, reaching for his cell.

Mr. Porter had been kept very busy by Securicorp since his return to work. His employers had been very understanding over their star employee's sabbatical working for the CIA. But now he was back and there was a lot of work waiting for his skill set, work he was expected to be there to perform.

The two men had only managed to meet up once a week for a Mojito and a beer at Carlito's. Looking at the card again, Sam decided this bit of news couldn't wait another four days.

"Hey Jess'. Think you can get away from the office for a couple of hours?"

"I'm pretty busy, Sammy. Can it wait until tonight?"

Mr. Axe turned the business card over in his fingers a couple of times. Four hours was better than four days…

"Yeah, sure…"

"Something wrong, Sam?"

The older man sighed. "Naw… just never thought I'd miss getting shot at..."

"Hey, man, I can arrange that if it would help."

Sam chuckled. "No, thanks anyway, Jesse. Elsa probably wouldn't appreciate it."

"Same table, same time…?"

The ex-SEAL took one more look at the little white slip of cardboard, wistfully wishing his friends a happy life, before stuffing it into his shirt pocket.

"Okay, brother, see you then. But just remember, fella, it's your turn to buy the mojitos.

()()()()

So close no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
No nothing else matters

()()

Tbc


	8. With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The song "With Me" sung by Sum 41 does not belong to be. I have just borrowed the lyrics to enhance this story. No copyright infringement is intended.

Nine months later.......

"Let me ask you something.” The voice in his ear was soft, the educated southern drawl seductive in its tone. “In your career, how many times have you had to execute an action that you knew was morally wrong?"

A myriad of images sprung to life, swirling through his mind, offering brief glimpses of things he had kept locked away for years, so many very bad things done for what he had believed at the time were very good reasons. Things he had done for the greater good….. Because there was no other way to get the job done or maybe because at the time he just wanted the assignment to be over..... Chechnya… Vedeno... The DR...

He was there in an instant, in the dark, standing over an innocent sleeping child, holding a silenced weapon inches from her head ready though not willingly awaiting the order to end her life.

"I can't do it," he had pleaded, but to no avail.  
"You can't? You have to. You and I both know it is not just your ass on the line if this thing goes south... Do you understand?" 

The smell of strong spirits assailed his nostrils and the sound of a shot glass shattering as he threw it against the wall made him flinch and shudder.

"You make a deal with someone you know is a monster because you have to follow orders," the soft hypnotic voice of his own personal demon continued to torment him.

"Your orders are to make contact with him, tell him you're in town and want to visit. We go in, scout the security then come up with a plan." Now the faint trace of a Russian accent tinged the words of yet another order he didn't want to follow.

"And then?" He swallowed thickly, the taste of bile in his throat not part of the nightmare he was trapped inside.

"And then we kill him." The blonde told him dispassionately what deep down he already knew was coming.

"You're asking me to kill a friend." Again he asked for a reprieve, though back then he had been naïve to think he was dealing with a honorable organization.

"He's in the game he knows how it's played..." 

His hated handler had been more cold and uncaring than the so-called terrorists. "Look, when I gave you this assignment, when I said I needed the Michael Westen who was willing to do what?"

"Whatever it takes…"

He had been a fool to think that Andrew Strong cared about anything but the mission, what in truth had turned out to be the man's personal vendetta. "Well, this is what it takes."

But he had learned fast… Hell, he had even been exactly that kind of agent himself once upon a time…

"Then one day I was done with that…" The ghost of James Kendrick echoed his own thoughts that day and a whimper escaped from the sleeping spy's lips. He knew what was coming next...

"When we find a monster we don't make a deal with it. We destroy it. Is that something you would be interested in?"

What always came next, when the demons came, along with the monsters which were always following close behind.

"You're done pal, you give new meaning to the word despised..." Those words, the ones that he had repeated back to the broken man lying in a hospital bed…who had been the bane of his existence.

"Just like me…"

"The CIA, the NSA, the NCTC, everybody, every intelligence organization is calling for your head on a pike..." the bastard continued his recruitment speech and once again he was forced to listen.

"Just like me, just like me, just like me, just like me…"

"Guess what? It's your lucky day. Because I just happen to be in the market for someone just like you."

"Just like me… oh, he owns you now, boy," crowed the biggest monster of them all.

And in his mind's eye, the idiot who had set him free faded into the background, leaving only...... "Relax, Michael, we're on the same side."

The fiend had offered his hand in, if not exactly in friendship, then as a brother in arms… "They got me out of the box almost as soon as you put me in it. They drop me into hotspots when they need somebody to get their hands dirty."

"There is no way they would let you out of prison, not after everything you've done."

He twisted the knife, feeling the warmth of his enemy's life blood covering his hand and he had loved it...... But even as he slew the beast which inhabited his nightmares, it had one more truth to reveal, one more cruel reminder, one final straw that had broken his back, shattered his faith….

"Wake up, Michael... Guys like us, we're weapons. As long as we're useful someone is always going to want to take us out to play."

"Wake up, Mi- Daniel, mi amor, Daniel…"

Blue eyes fluttered open and looked frantically about the large airy bedroom. Only the slender hand resting on his arm stopped him from lurching out of bed, searching out the nearest weapon…

"It was just a bad dream, Daniel. Go back to sleep. Nous sommes tous sains et saufs…"

"Sorry, Cherie," Daniel Germaine murmured in reply.

Unwilling to risk returning to the dreamscape which he knew awaited him, but not wanting to disturb the woman next to him any more than he already had, the finally retired covert operative reluctantly rested his head back on the pillow, stared up at the slowly turning ceiling fan above the bed, waiting for the sun to come up.

Then the digital clock at the side of the bed told the man who had once been known as Michael Westen that it was six AM and by his own reckoning, he had been wake and staring up at the ceiling for at least two hours.

He sighed heavily and rolled over to face the sleeping woman at his side.

It had been several months since he had last been tormented by the twin ghosts in his head.

The devil in the form of James Kendrick, offering him just what he thought he wanted most… He could still feel the pull even now, the adrenaline rush of being offered that much power... The good he could have done with James' organization under his control… The ability to remake the world the way he wanted it to be…the resources that would be at his command...

"You're not just helping them, you're one of them."  
His best friend had looked at him with such disgust that he had felt the urge to justify his actions and, when that hadn't worked, he had turned against the one man who had always had his back regardless of what he had done in the past.

"What about Nate?" Sam's accusation had cut him deeply, but hadn't been strong enough to slice through the bonds which tied him to James and Sonya and the power of life they were offering him.

It had taken the full fury of Fiona Glenanne to make him see what he had become....... "What are ya gonna do, Michael? Will ya stand and watch as he does it, the way ya did when he murdered Ben Snyder? Or will you pull the trigger yourself this time? I mean, you hate us enough to risk having us all thrown in jail... You could say it would be a kindness to put us down like dogs."

He would never, he couldn't... The troubled former spy swiped a hand over his eyes.  
James Kendrick and Sonya Lebedenko were both dead, their organization still being dismantled by the CIA, the tendrils stretching all over the world and through all aspects of life: finance, communications, weapons, logistics…

Just thinking about the CIA brought about other fears, his old agency had freed Simon Escher….that they made a deal with a monster and that monster's words still reverberated through his head...

Did the CIA still see him as a weapon? Was it just a matter of time before there was a knock on the door and everything he loved was put in danger again?....... "You might be able to survive in a concrete box, but do you think they can? They'll never see the sun again."

"You think I haven't done worse for the CIA? They'll probably pin a medal on my chest for this."

He'd got a medal too, years ago... A medal which he had never shown to another person, a reward for standing back while his partner had murdered a whole family... Chechnya...

He blinked away the moisture building in his eyes... That was a place he kept so securely locked away, he had even managed to hide the details from James during his chemical enhanced introduction to the leader of the terrorist group he'd been hunting.

There was only one other person left alive who knew what he'd done in that farmhouse in the Caucus Mountains. His best friend even then, though he hadn't fully known that at that time, had pulled him back from the brink, just like Sam had tried to on that bridge back in Miami...

Tried and failed... James Kendrick's siren song had been more powerful than even the pull of his long-time partner and surrogate father.

If it hadn't been for her... The troubled former spy shivered and reached out to the one person who anchored him when the ghosts came. Turning onto his side, he draped an arm about Fiona's waist and snuggled against her, burying his face in her long, sleep-tousled hair breathing in her comforting scent; gunshot residue mixed with the soft floral undertones of her new cover's, Josephine St. Clair, favorite eau de parfum.

But the memories of his despicable actions continued to swirl through his mind, sharply reminding him that he didn't deserve the woman in his arms or any of the other trappings of the normal life he was leading.

"What, do you wake up three or four times in the middle of the night...? I could tell you it gets better, but I'd be lying. After a while you just start collecting ghosts. I find rum helps, a lot of rum."

He'd tried that, drowning his misery in hard liquor. But it wasn't who he was or who he wanted to become... He was not Paul Anderson and he definitely wasn't Frank Westen either...

No, he would make this work… The CIA believed him beyond redemption and too unstable to risk out in the field, even under close supervision. Besides, after Tom Card, Olivia Riley and Andrew Strong, it would take a brave or more likely a desperate fool to come around and try dragging him back into the service of Uncle Sam.

Tossing and turning, the dark haired man was on the verge of giving up on sleep and getting up.. Maybe a long run before the humidity of the day set in would clear his head and send his demons back to depths where they belonged…

"Daniel, il est trop tôt, reste avec moi."

His mate's husky sleep laden words made him hesitate and then turn back to hold her in his arms. She was his strength at times like this. If it hadn't been for Fiona he would have been truly lost, a figure filled with no thoughts other than making all those monsters and the men who had freed them pay dearly for their betrayal of what had been his well-ordered world.

()()

I don't want this moment to ever end  
Where everything's nothing without you  
I wait here forever just to, to see you smile  
'Cause it's true, I am nothing without you

()

Watching his goddess sleeping so soundly, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest under his arm began to ease the troubled mind of the former covert operative. Unable to resist the urge, he captured a few strands of the red gold hair splayed across the pillow, curling them about his fingers. At that moment, it was so tempting to wake her with a hundred soft kisses on her back, her shoulders, before capturing her lips while his hands rubbed and caressed her lithe body...

But he refrained. It was early and they hadn't gone to bed until late and it had been later still when they had finally fallen asleep. The thought of their earlier activities brought a smile to his lips and chased away the last of the lingering guilt which had clouded his mind and allowed the demons to come out of the dark parts of his subconscious.

Josephine St. Clair, as his beloved was now known, had been most put out at not being allowed to enter the shooting competition they had hosted the day before. The one-time Irishwoman had become more irritated as the day had gone on… As lesser marksmen and women had taken the prizes which she had help purchase, polish and set out on display at the beginning of the day.

During the early days of their ownership of the gun club, it had been hard for Fiona to accept that she had to down play her skills, walking that fine line between being good enough to instruct others yet not so good that her skills honed as a paramilitary and later as a premier ranking gunrunner drew unwanted attention.

It takes a good marksman to shoot you at 50 feet from a moving car, but it takes a great marksman to miss... while making it look like they are trying to hit you... or markswoman as the case may be.

His lips twitched at the long ago memory of a crazy Irishwoman leaning out of a fast moving car, her hair whipping about her face and in her eyes as she fired a gun which sent a bullet into the concrete between his feet.

For him, it had been easier. As a spy he had learned a long time ago it paid to have people underestimate his abilities. But as a gun runner, especially as a female in the macho world of weapons and explosives, Fiona's reputation had saved her life on more than one occasion.

"I could have bested that shot using my left hand and standing on one leg. I could have taken every one of those little cups," She had pouted and then hidden her pique behind a sunny smile and shook the hand of the new ladies champion at the inaugural annual club competition at the Audubon Indoor Shooting Range. He had been against the idea at the time for just that reason among others.

"I'll make it up to you later, I promise," he had whispered into her ear.

"Yes, you will Daniel Germaine," she had purred back.

His smile widened in to a full blown grin. He must have lived up to his promise for his lover to still be sleeping so soundly. For even now, in the safety of their new lives as the owners of a popular new gun range, the love of his life was still a notorious light sleeper, a habit of a lifetime.

He took a moment to feel guilty for all the times he had disturbed her rest while he wrestled with his conscience before returning to feeling great gratitude for her continued presence in his life.

()()

Through it all I've made my mistakes  
I stumble and fall but I mean these words

()

He really didn't deserve the depths of her love for him... But then again, he never had.

Michael heaved a sigh. Despite his frustrations with his situation sometimes, he was happy that he was finally able to do the things that made her happy... Even if she had her own frustrations with their new life, they were together, just them, side by side, like she had asked in that junkyard in Panama what seemed like more than a lifetime ago...

A faint click of a door knob being turned followed by the creak of a purposefully loosened floorboard alerted Michael a presence on the other side of their bedroom door. Rolling off the bed, his fingers were reaching for the gun he kept in a drawer next to the bed when he snatched his hand away. Rising up off of the mattress and setting his feet onto the carpeted floor, he reached for a T-shirt hanging off the end of the bed and quietly padded bare-foot across the room to the door.

He had a good idea who it was sneaking along the hallway.

The last nine months had brought about a lot of changes, some of them easier to cope with than others. With his T-shirt in place, Michael twisted the door knob and stepped out into the hallway to take care of what had to be the biggest upheaval to his life.

He had known that he was facing big changes right from the moment he had made the agreement with Raines: a new life far away from his home town and his two closest friends under the watchful eye of the CIA, which had started as soon as they had rappelled down the side of the hospital, where he had said his final goodbye to Sonya and then driven away under cover of darkness.

Just thinking about the blonde caused him to turn back to the sleeping woman in his bed again.

If it hadn't been for her love and determination to keep him alive, he would have broken the deal the instant he knew his friends were safe and protected.

That night as they had ridden away from Miami on the backs of two bright red Kawasaki ZXR motorcycles, heading westwards, she had broken every traffic law along the way, riding at highly illegal speeds, dangerously weaving their way in and out of the traffic along the Tamiami Trail.

"What the hell are you doin', Fi?" He had pulled up alongside of her at the first red light she had deigned to obey. "You're gonna alert Raines and every law enforcement department-"

She had raised the visor of her crash helmet and stared into his eyes, while her right hand had tightened and twisted on the throttle of her ride, making the highly tuned engine roar.

"Wer free, Michael... Free until we reach New Orleans an' if we wanta be free after thot, we need ta get thar befer Raines' men realize we've doubled back."

But before he'd had a chance to answer, she had snapped her visor back down and, as the light turned green, she had shot forward so fast her motorcycle had reared up onto its back wheel.

After that, he had stuck close to the crazy woman with the unruly wisps of her long red hair trailing out from beneath her crash helmet, desperate to keep up with her as she lead them passed Naples, Sarasota and Tampa, only stopping for gas and quick bathroom breaks before getting back on the road. Traveling through Florida length-wise first north and then west had made seem as though he would never put his home state behind him. By mid-morning, they had finally crossed over into Alabama and taken refuge at the Wind Chase Inn near the small hamlet of Loxley after their wild all night drive, fleeing the hospital and their troubled pasts as well.

He had fallen into an exhausted slumber, as she had no doubt also intended with the blistering pace she had set for their ride to freedom, though he had been just as eager to put Miami and all that it now represented behind him for good.

That night he had awaken slowly and reached out to find warm sheets and no Fiona, which had caused him to panic momentarily and call out her name. His angel had emerged from the bathroom and then come quickly to his side, enfolding him in her embrace, holding him close as the years had fallen away while they had made love long into the night. It had been hesitant at first, but then slowly and tenderly, her touch gentle and soothing, they had apologized to one another without words, healing all the past hurts they had inflicted on each other, especially during the past year…

He had fallen asleep in her arms with his head resting upon her chest, cradling her naked form against his partial clothed frame while the steady rhythm of her heartbeat lulled him into the another deep sleep, allowing him the first decent rest he had had in months.

He held her closely, letting her warmth penetrate his whole being as he lay snuggled up against the one woman had always kept him grounded. It had been because he had lost her that he had lost his way. Michael recalled what had happened as they had packed up their bags and prepared for a few more hours in the saddle. He had broached the subject of forgetting the deal they had made...

"Sam and Jesse are safe now. You heard Raines. They've signed their deals and if I know Sam at all, he's already made sure there're copies are being kept somewhere safe and secure. The CIA won't renege on the deal if they know it will bring the whole sorry mess out in to the open."

He had warmed to his theme, talking faster and faster. "We could run, go our own way. We don't need the CIA to protect us. You know that we can't trust them not to -"

She had placed her fingers over his mouth, halting his words and then standing closer, she had reached up to capture his lips in a passionate kiss scattering his thoughts. Only when he had calmed down did she draw away, taking hold of his hands she had stared deeply into his eyes.

"Let's get to New Orleans before we decide on our next move is. You have to see your mother before we do anything else. You need to let her know we're all safe and she doesn't need to spend the rest of her life in hiding... You owe her that much, Michael."

The determined glint in her blue-green eyes had told him then and there that she wouldn't agree to do anything else until he had made peace with Madeline, so he had nodded and acquiesced.

()()

I want you to know with everything I won't let this go  
These words are my heart and soul  
I'll hold on to this moment you know  
'Cause I'd bleed my heart out to show and I won't let go

()

Smiling, Daniel Germaine now turned back to face the figure who was slowly emerging from the family bathroom at the far end of the hall and instead of staring down his recent past.

"Ya should still be in bed. We've gotta big day aheada us, champ," he whispered as he carefully shut the door behind him.

"I can't sleep, Unca Mike…" His four year old nephew ran toward him and grabbed hold of his hand in an attempt to pull him towards the family room. "Can we have breakfast now?"

"Sure thing, Charlie but yer gonna have to be real quiet like. Yer Auntie Fifi is still asleeping... And Charlie, remembuh, muh name's Daniel now, ya hear? Uncle Dan." Picking up his nephew, he swung little boy onto his back and made his way into the large lounge at the front of the single storey house.

Part of him wanted to laugh at the quizzical looks his nephew gave him every time he corrected the boy, emphasizing his newly acquired southern accent to reinforce his cover. He'd been very nervous at first about the toddler remembering to stick to their story. It had been one of his many objections to his mother's request. But he had been foolish to think that his mother would make it easy for him to run away again or that William Raines didn't know his former recruit well enough not to make damn sure the CIA's most unreliable asset didn't get a chance to permanently disappear off the grid.

As he looked around the home the CIA had provided to Daniel Germaine and Josephine St. Clair, he remembered when they had finally arrived in New Orleans late in the afternoon of their second day on the run and booked into a bed and breakfast establishment close to the bus terminus on Loyola Avenue. They had both agreed venturing out into the bayous in search of Sam's old navy buddy's cabin was going to be a waste of their time, as only the ex-SEAL had the exact coordinates.

Instead, after a restless night for both of them, they had taken up surveillance posts in the massive Union Passenger Terminal, a bustling building which was filled with a constant sea of people either coming into or leaving the city. Luckily for them, as they knew where their target was travelling to, it wasn't too much of chore to keep an eye on all the buses heading to Atlanta.

However, after a disappointing and frustrating first day, they had woken up on the second morning with a feeling of dread at having to spend another hot sultry day in a packed building and with an overlay of only partially suppressed panic as to what could be delaying his mother... That was when two men dressed in open necked shirts and lightweight suits had entered the guest house dining room and boldly sat down beside them at their table.

"Thar y'all are..." The taller and older of the two men had beamed as he grabbed a vacant chair from a neighboring table and joined them. "Muh name's Matthew Nixon, no relation t'the President in case y'all were wonderin' and this here is Agent Aaron Metzel. We thought we'd lost y'all around Fort Lauderdale, but Mister Raines, he assured us that if we just hung around long enough, ya'd turn up and dammed if he wasn't right... Here, I have something fer y'all." The CIA agent had handed a folder to Fiona and then passed another over the table to where he sat.

As soon as the two men had announced their presence, his first instinct had been to knock over the table, grab Fiona's hand and make a break for freedom. But the logical part of his brain instantly quelled the desire to flee. He had seen this act before, the dazzling smile and easy charm. Hell, he'd used the same approach himself more times than he cared to remember when working on gaining the trust of a skittish asset...

So, instead of causing a scene, he had forced himself to relax back in his chair and bar his teeth in that same professional smile before promising the two agents that he'd look over the files as soon as he had the time.

"Oh, I reckon ya might wanna reconsider that thought, Mike. It's alright if I call you Mike, isn't it?" Agent Nixon had used the same fake charming smile back at him. "Seems like we already know each other after all the time me an' Metzel there spent watchin' of footage of ya'll hanging out in the station yesterday. Ya were looking fer yar mama, right? Well, ya should know yer wasting yar time. Here, lemme save us all some trouble..."

The agent had pushed some surveillance photos of a quaint looking building with a bougainvillea decorated balcony above a busy café below. "She's staying over in an apartment on Barrack Street in the French quarter. Seems like she hadda little accident and then made a new friend about the same time as you were finishin' off Operation Midas and Mr. Raines wanted me t'let ya know that the clean up's goin' real good, too."

"Unca Dan, can I watch Bubble Guppies?"

The little boy's question had interrupted his distracted reverie, forcing him to focus on the present.

Charlie had the TV remote in his hand, his brown eyes staring up at his uncle expectantly. "Auntie Fi, let's me watch what I want in the mornings," he assured his relative as he began to expertly operate the controls.

"Bubble Guppies...? His words faded away as the large flat screen TV began to show what appeared to be mermaid boys and girls chasing after a giant clamshell. "I reckon Auntie Fifi doesn't let you watch just anything…" The program seemed innocuous enough. " Okay, sure thing, but not too loud, ya hear? We don' wanna wake up Auntie Fifi when she's sleepin' sound like."

Yawning and stretching, the dark haired man left his nephew to watch his show and made his way into the open plan kitchen. Switching on the coffee maker and then turning on the oven, the former spy then brought out a six pack of ready to bake croissants from the freezer.

Even though Michael Westen still craved Brenner's blueberry yogurts, Daniel Germaine, after years of living in a small town in Northern France with his French wife, had grown used to eating the buttery pastries for breakfast. Charlie seemed to love them as well. The boy never had acquired his uncle's taste for the sweet yet slightly bitter creamy treat the man still dreamed of on occasion.

()()

Thoughts read unspoken forever and now  
The pieces of memories fall to the ground  
I know what I did and how so, I won't let this go  
'Cause it's true, I am nothing without you

()

Listening to the sounds of the TV coming from the other room and breathing in the faint smell of brewing coffee, the man once known as the Terror of Russia leaned back against the counter top and wondered when exactly he had gotten used to being a surrogate father to his brother's only child.

Which had him remembering once again how he'd come to this place in his life, thinking back on the two agents sent by Raines who had insisted on taking them on the short drive over to the French Quarter while they had sat in the backseat going through their new identities, including the details of the house they were now living in and more intelligence on the life of one Adelaide Germaine.

And in a surprisingly large and airy apartment above a Cajun seafood café, they had been reunited with his mother and nephew with their unwelcome chaperons hovering on the other side of the door, waiting to escort them to their apparently permanent destination.

"I tripped getting off the airboat and dislocated my knee," Madeline had explained. "We were trapped on that old porch overnight, Michael. I couldn't get up, and Charlie wouldn't leave my side. He was so frightened. We were lucky we weren't eaten by alligators or carried off by those damned mosquitos. But then Jacques and his cousin, Henri, found us." She had smiled fondly at the elderly man sitting next to her on a wicker couch. "This is Henri Devereaux and he has been kind enough to let me and Charlie stay with him."

At the time he had viewed the retired shrimp fisherman with a great deal of suspicion. After all, history had taught him all about Madeline Westen's bad taste in men: Frank, Virgil, Benny... But as the months had gone by, Michael was forced to admit Henri was good for his mother.

But back then he had pointedly glared at the couple's entwined fingers until their elderly host had reluctantly let go of his mother's hand. "Ma, we need to speak in private, so if -" He had narrowed his eyes and been impressed at how quickly the new man in his mother's life had gotten the message.

"You must have a lot to talk about, cher." Henri had kissed his blushing girlfriend on the cheek and then gotten to his feet. "How about me an' Charlie go buy us some strawberry ice cream?"

Letting a stranger take his nephew anywhere had set all sorts of alarm bells ringing. But before he'd had a chance to react, the young boy had leapt to the older man's side and his mother had spoken up.

"You can trust him, Michael. Henri has been a complete gentleman the whole time we've been here... Besides, your two government friends have already checked him out."

"My government friends?" he had asked in a flat tone, though he had already guessed the answer.

"Some slick sonuvabitch named Nixon and another one called Merkel or something. –" She had waved a dismissive hand, which he suddenly noticed had not been clutching a cigarette the entire time they'd been talking. "They said they were here to make our relocation as smooth as possible, whatever that means... They gave me this." She had awkwardly reach around to where she had left a folder very similar to the one Agent Nixon had given him and Fiona.

"They said I've been cleared of all the charges your former boss had trumped up against us, but there are still people out there who would want to hurt me and Charlie if they knew where we were. Then they told me I had to learn this –?" She had thrust the plain manila folder at him. When he had taken the file and opened the cover, the white haired woman had begun to list her grievances while he had read through the details which the Company had provided regarding her new life.

"Adelaide Germaine, Adelaide, Michael. That's the name some genius somewhere picked for me and they've also changed Nate's name too. I can't even call my baby boy by his name any more. Now, he's Jake and he and his wife Ruby died in a fire." Her brightly painted fingers moved to her mouth as if holding a cigarette. "I don't know that I can do this," she sniffed.

He had dropped down in front of her, the guilt almost as bad as it had been when he'd realized his friends were still willing to sacrifice themselves to save his soul. Taking her hands in his, he had looked deeply into her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Ma... Raines probably chose those names to make it less scary for Charlie. He won't understand what's going on, but at least this way it'll be easier for him. Any mistakes he makes will just sound like mispronunciation. Maddy, Addy… Fi, Fifi, well, Josephine, but Fifi for short. It'll help him adjust…"

"And Jake and Daniel, how's that supposed to work, Michael?" his mother had demanded.

"Look at the birth certificates…" he had requested with a sigh. "Daniel Michael and Jacob Nathaniel Germaine…everyone in the south goes by their middle name half of the time. It's for Charlie's benefit, Mom." And he remembered thinking at the time that Raines' thoroughness was a clear indication of how serious the man was about them staying put and on the CIA's radar.

The situation had reminded him sharply of the day he, Fiona and his mother had stood in a kitchen as he took every piece of identification belonging to Madeline Westen and dropped each item into fire burning in the bottom of a pan in the sink. They were fugitives then, fleeing from the CIA.

In the intelligence world when an operation demands that you disappear, it's understood that you will disappear entirely. You can't have anything that links you to your former life – no credit history, no communication with friends and nothing with your old name on it. That's hard enough for an intelligence professional to deal with. For a civilian, it's nearly impossible. But for a child it would have to be the most difficult thing imaginable to accomplish.

"What will everyone think?" she had asked as she had clutched her treasured address book to her chest.

"Well, with any luck they'll think you died,"Fiona had supplied the answer to her question when he had been unable to utter the words.

"And my grandson? Nate's little boy has already lost his father."

He remembered her hurt back then and that this time it had to be a thousand times worse as he was dragging a child into his problems, a child she'd sworn to protect at all costs.

As Michael looked over at his brother's son staring at the bright images on the TV screen, he thought about how his mother had pulled herself together, both when they were looking at going on the lam forever and in that tiny apartment above the café. Both times he had noticed the stubborn glint in her eyes, but that time the former spy had known he was in even more trouble than before.

()()

All the streets where I walked alone  
With nowhere to go have come to an end

()

Removing the croissants from the oven, Michael carefully transferred the hot pastries onto a plate and then pulled open one of the drawers under the counter top in search of a butter knife.

"Charlie, yer breakfast is ready. Turn off that thar squawk box and git on in here, kid," he called out to the dark haired boy who was busy jumping up and down on the couch.

"Aw, Unca Dan, pleeeeaaassseee, can we eat in here? I wanna watch TV. Auntie Fifi lets me -"

"I ain't buyin' what yer sellin' thar, boy..." Then Michael sighed, not wanting to fight with the four year old, especially not today. "Just this one time, ya hear?"

This was one of his biggest problems, or so Fiona was forever telling him. "You let him walk all over you, Daniel. Charlie has been through so much. He needs structure."

"Said the woman who's thrived on chaos most of her adult life…"

That comment, while true, had earned him a punch nonetheless.

But all Michael could think about at the moment was how much like Nate the child bouncing from one end of the couch to the other looked and acted like his kid brother. That alone should have been enough to alert him to the fact that his nephew required a firm but loving hand. Like his mother, Michael had resolved to do a better job at watching over Charlie than he had watching over Nate.

"And only if Ah git ta pick the show," Daniel added the proviso. It wasn't much of an attempt at discipline, but then he was suddenly hit by a bout of nostalgia, something foreign to him before in his life as an operative. Sentiment, like attachment, was a complication he couldn't afford then.

Of course, he had still been in grade school when he'd been left on his own to tend to his brother. Hopefully, despite a lack of any practical experience in child rearing, he was bound to do a better job by default or so he kept reassuring himself daily as he immersed himself in living his new life.

"But I wanna watch -"

"Ah-huh, it's my way or the highway, buddy." With two of the pastries buttered up and a jar of blueberry jam placed on a tray, Michael made his way back into the family room. "Them's the rules. This thing here's done made me sea sick tryin' to keep up with it."

Sitting down next to his nephew and with the tray balanced on his lap, Michael picked up the remote control and began to flick through the channels searching for something to watch which would satisfy his nephew's taste for bright colors and lots of action and his own need for something which wasn't going to drive him completely insane. He was sure he'd spotted something familiar when Charlie had first switched on the TV and flicked rapidly through the channels.

"Everything's A-OK... Friendly neighbors there...That's where we meet... Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street"

And there it was… what he was searching for. As the theme song continued, he pulled Charlie closer. "Did I ever tell ya I used t'watch Sesame Street with yer daddy?"

"But I wanted to watch Power Rangers next." The little boy crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his bottom lip, a mirror image of Nate's stubborn visage at that age. That is until Frank Westen would wipe that look off his youngest son's face with an expertly placed backhand.

"Oh, this is bettuh than Power Rangers, Charlie. This here was yer daddy's favorite show. We used t' watch it together on a Saturday morning while your gramma was -" He stopped, choking on the words as he remembered all those cozy early mornings with Nate, sitting in front of the small black and white TV, laughing quietly at the activities of Big Bird and company.

And it wasn't long before Charlie, just like his father before him, was engrossed in the mixture of humor and learning. Only this time, there would be unhappy intrusions on their quiet moments.

Back then Michael had used the show as a way of keeping his younger brother out of trouble while their parents spent the morning in bed sleeping off their hangovers. Even after he had moved into middle school and was well past the age for learning his ABCs or how to count with the Count, he had looked forward to the few hours of being able pretend they lived in a happy household until their mother would walk into the room with a fresh black eye or busted lip and ruin the illusion.

Smearing blueberry jam over a piece of croissant, the one-time secret agent rested his head back and let the giggles of his young nephew wash away the last of the uneasiness caused by his earlier bad dreams.

()()

I want you to know with everything I won't let this go  
These words are my heart and soul  
I'll hold on to this moment you know  
As I bleed my heart out to show and I won't let go

()

"Bonjour, et ce sont mes deux garçons préférés trop?"

Michael barely contained the flinch as long slender fingers combed through his untidy black hair and soft lips pressed a kiss to his stubble covered cheek.

"A bad night, cherie?" Josephine whispered into his ear, her soft lilting accent and the tickle of her breath on his neck sending a shiver down his spine. Even when she was working her new identity as the foreign wife of a retired US Army master sergeant, Fiona Glenanne always enjoyed proving she was still the only one who could sneak up on her hyper alert husband.

"Auntie Fi!"

Charlie sprung up, causing Michael to hastily grab at the tray before it could tumble to the floor.

"We're watching Sesame Street... Unca Mike – Unca Dan says it was my daddy's favorite show like when he was little like me."

"I'm sure you're right, Charlie. It was my favorite, too." Fiona ruffled the little boy's hair and then looked critically between uncle and nephew. "I have to go to the range for an hour this morning and then go and pick up a few things for the picnic this afternoon. Do you think you have time to take Charlie for a haircut?"

"Sure thing, darlin'," Michael replied, easily slipping back into his new persona now that he realized there was no threat.

"It wouldn't hurt for you to have a couple of inches taken off too." She smiled down at her lover, while pulling her own hair back out of the way of the sticky fingers of the little boy, who was now trying to scrabble over the back of the couch to climb into her arms.

Glancing at his watch, Michael quickly ran some time calculations. The barber he liked to use was across town and he had his own preparations to make before they disappeared for the afternoon.

"I tell you what, sweet thing, how about you get this lil terror ready to go while I get cleaned up? Then we'll be outta yer hair 'til lunchtime?"

He suppressed the urge to laugh at his woman's expression. On the face of it, this was a very generous offer. Only they both had learned over the last few months how picky and hard to get dressed the young Mr. Germaine could be when the mood took him.

"Oh, vous allez payer pour que, Michael," Fiona murmured softly, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Je suis impatient à elle, ma chérie," the former Mr. Westen replied with a mischievous smirk.

"Auntie Fifi, you got it wrong... You called him Michael. It's Unca Dan," the pre-schooler stated sternly, pleased to be able to correct one of the adults. The dark haired boy clinging to his aunt's side had broken the spell, though the two adults continued to stare into each other's eyes.

"That I did, ma petite," Fiona laughed. "You want to have another croissant with me while Uncle Daniel has his shower?"

Leaving Charlie in the capable hands of the one time bomb-maker turned housewife and business partner, Michael made his way back to their bedroom and the en-suite. Stripping off his T-shirt and pajama pants, he crossed to the large double sized shower compartment and turned on the water, which unlike the ancient heating system in his old apartment back in Miami, ran hot within seconds.

"I gotta tell ya, I'm a lil bit jealous of the package Mister Raines has set up for ya'll," Agent Nixon had spoken over his shoulder as his partner had driven them the short distance to where his mother apparently had been staying. "If you check out page four I think it is, you'll see yer the new owner of a mighty fine four bed, two bath single storey place over in Audubon... We're having bullet resistant glass fitted to all the windows as we speak and panic alarms in every room... We'll run you over thar as soon as yer finished up speaking with your mama."

At the time he had been more concerned with finding out how badly his mother had hurt herself to show the slightest bit of interest in why the CIA was giving them a large modern family-sized home in a good area with a selection of excellent private schools nearby. However, once Madeline had finished complaining about government agents upending her life yet again, he had been left stunned at the lengths his old employer was apparently willing to go to keep him in line.

Once he had washed away all the sweat caused by his nightmare-filled sleep, the former spy switched off the shower and wrapped one towel about his waist while using another to remove the worst of the moisture from his hair.

Stopping in front of the white porcelain sink, he wiped the condensation away from the mirrored door to the medicine cabinet and stared at his reflection in the glass.

Now that he was no longer under the threat of death or imprisonment for him and his friends, the taunt haunted look had faded from his expression, leaving him looking younger and less jaded. His black hair was longer now too, long enough that the natural waves and curls had returned, a style that Fiona frequently commented reminded her of her first true love, one Mr. Michael McBride.

Pursing his lips, he ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the scrape of stubble as his eyes narrowed at the grey which was creeping into his beard. Luckily, a beard was no longer necessary for his cover, especially as it was a hated reminder of his last assignment for the CIA. No, longer hair and frequent five o'clock shadow was now just indicative of how much more relaxed Daniel Germaine was than Michael Westen had been, despite or perhaps because of the new additions to his life.

Reaching for the can of shaving foam on shelf of the vanity unit, he sprayed a generous amount of the foam into the palm of his hand, pausing just for a moment to listen to the boyish squeals laughter coming from the other end of the house.

The last time his uncle had tried to dress the boy had been three days ago. It had taken him, a man who in the past had brokered deals between Afghani warlords, twenty minutes to convince a four year old that he couldn't wear shorts as it was raining outside. He had subsequently learned that, as in the military, orders were frequently more successful than logical suggestions.

Barring his teeth in a grin, he felt a sudden and unexpected surge of joy as he heard Fiona raise her voice in exasperation.

"Charlie Germaine, ya put those clothes on this instant! Ya cannae run around naked." The fact his beloved was letting her accent lapse was a sure sign his nephew was doing his best to try the patience of his surrogate mother.

Slowly his smile faded, remembering how he had reacted when he had first realized that he had fallen for his mother's and William Raines' manipulation.

"Michael, sit down." As his mother had patted the spot recently vacated by the new man in her life, her blue eyes flickered briefly towards the door and then across the room to where Fiona was admiring the view out over the balcony. "Fiona, this concerns you too. Come and sit down."

"Ma?"

From her tone and her expression, her son had expected his mother to announce she was dying of lung cancer or some equally grave condition. At the time, what she'd said next seemed even worse.

"That night I spent out in the open, it gave me plenty of time to think about my life and all the mistakes I've made along the way. It made me realize - -" Madeline had sighed heavily, clearly upset but equally determined to continue. "I'm sixty seven years old, Michael. Even if that thing says I'm sixty one." She had paused long enough to glare at the manila folder he had still been holding in his hand. "What I'm trying to say is that Charlie needs you. He has already lost so much. He needs to be raised by somebody who is still going to be around when he graduates high school."

He recalled kneeling there, waiting expectantly to hear her announce the name of Charlie's future guardian which he was expected to watch over and ensure that said person raised his nephew properly when it had suddenly dawned on him what his mother had been actually expecting of him.

"Me?"

The rush of adrenaline had almost caused him to bolt out of the room at the mere thought of being made responsible for raising his deceased brother's son, a boy who'd been made fatherless because of his actions. But somehow he had managed to quell the urge.

Instead he had sucked in a breath, calmed his nerves and while he had tried to come up with the best way to tell his mother she was utterly crazy to think a child would be safe in his care, he'd had to rely on Fiona to fill the silence created by Mrs. Westen's announcement.

"Madeline, you've just had a scare. I'm sure once -"

"No! Now, you two listen to me..." His mother had cut his girlfriend off with the jab of her brightly painted fingernail. "That boy has been dragged from pillar to post, he has lost both his parents, he was there when Fiona burned my house down and going by what that man Nixon said, he is going to have to spend the rest of his life pretending to be somebody else."

"Mom, I don't think -"

"You're capable of looking after a three year old?" It was at that moment she had smiled softly, her hand cupping his cheek gently. "You have always looked after us all. We haven't always appreciated or understood why you did what you did, but you always did it to keep us safe. You have a good heart, Michael. I trust you to do this - and if you look in the back of that file you're still holding onto, you'll see your friends in the CIA agree with me."

In the back of the folder, hidden behind all the details of Adelaide Germaine's life, were two official documents. One named Mrs. A. Germaine as the legal guardian of Charles Jacob Germaine and the other document was identical in every way including the official stamp of the Louisiana Department of Child and Family Services, except for the name appearing in the space for the appointed guardian.

"I was told we had a week to decide who was going to take Charlie. But I don't need a week to work out what's the right thing to do." Shifting in her seat, the matriarch of their small family grimaced at the pain that minuscule amount of movement had caused, but nevertheless had taken hold of her son and future daughter in law's hands, linking them together. "You two, working together... I can't think of anywhere my grandson would be safer than in your care."

He had done his best to convince Madeline she was wrong. Neither he nor Fiona had any experience with raising a child and, as far as he was aware, they were both in agreement that children had no place in either of their lives. It was just too dangerous. No, Charlie was far better off in the care of his grandmother and besides, he had reassured, his mother she was going to outlive them all........   
But it was too late; he had already walked into the trap, the ambush completed.

As he finished scraping away the last of the foam, cleaning his razor under the running water before patting his face dry, Daniel Germaine shook his head, chuckled mirthlessly about the complete ineffectiveness of his bid to convince his mother that Charlie's place was with her. Listening to the voices carrying through their spacious home, he headed to the bedroom to get dressed for the first part of the most important day of his new life.

"Why can't I wear my new pants?"   
From the tone of his nephew's voice, Michael could imagine the sulky pout on the young boy's face.

"Because those pants are for this afternoon, not for wearing out to get a haircut and maybe playing in the park later, if you get back in time," came Fiona's weary reply. "Now, how about these jeans and the Scooby Doo T-shirt?"

Smiling broadly to himself now, Michael eyed the dark grey Armani suit and crisp white linen shirt hanging up on the door of his wardrobe. In a few hours time, they would be all dressed up in their finest for the special picnic which had taken months to arrange. But for now, just like Charlie, he had to settle for more casual attire.

After pulling on dark cotton cargo pants, a pale blue T-shirt, and slipping his feet into flip flops, the man of the house left the bedroom and followed the sounds of a now giggling little boy and the soft laughter of one of the two women who had saved his life.

He had been so angry at first, even going so far as to accuse his mother of working hand in glove with the CIA in an effort to control him. By his own reckoning, it had taken him three months to come to terms and accept his new place in the world.

He was no longer a spy, but now a father figure and role model to his brother's only child and though it was hard to admit, his mother had been right. Having Charlie in his life had given him something good to focus on rather than trying to escape all the ghosts from his past.

"Okay, buddy you ready to get going?" He reached the family room just in time to sweep the little boy up into his arms as Charlie attempted to dodge past him.

"Merci beaucoup, mi amor." Fiona caught up to them as he sat down on the couch holding the wriggling child on his lap.

"Shoes?" Michael gestured with a tilt of his head to the tennis shoes his beloved held in her hands.

"He wanted to wear the new shiny ones you promised him he could wear today," the faux Frenchwoman accused her lover. "Then he got away when I answered a text."

"A text?" While he kept a tight hold on his nephew's squirming frame, Fiona caught hold of a kicking leg and managed to get first one shoe and then the other in place.

"Our guests are on their way." She smiled and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "So now all that's left is for us to get ready."

Getting to his feet, the former top flight covert operative manoeuvred his nephew on to his back. "Before we head on out and spend money and then get all duded up, ya sure ya don't wanna t'change yar mind about this now, darlin'?"

"Not a chance, you're not getting out of this that easy. Now get going... This is one occasion where we can't be late." He laughed lightly before giving her a good bye kiss. He'd been accused of many things in his life, but being tardy was not one of them, though being only fifteen minutes early was considered late in the shadow world of covert operations.

Heading out of the front door with Charlie's arms holding on tight about his neck, the last of Michael Westen's ghosts retreated back into the deep recesses of his mind. Daniel Germaine had to admit that taking on his orphaned nephew had not only been the right thing for the little boy, but for himself as well. As the months had passed by and the toddler had settled into his new life, coming further out of his shell, Michael knew he would have undoubtedly run Madeline ragged.

Stopping beside the family vehicle, an armored Jeep Cherokee, the dark haired man paused just long enough to scan the whole length of the pleasant suburban street before assisting his nephew inside and buckling him into his car seat. While he was no longer a spy or the potential leader of an international terrorist organization, that didn't mean he was completely retired either.

Michael Westen had a new mission in life and it was one he was definitely not going to fail at. Daniel Germaine's family was depending on him and he wasn't going let them or himself down.


	9. It's Good To Be Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the final chapter of my story of what could have happened if Sam, Jesse & Fiona's plan to grab Michael on the bridge had worked. I hope you have enjoyed reading it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have only borrowed the song "It's Good To Be Alive." Sung by Skillet & Written by Tom Douglas, Zachary David Malloy, & John Cooper. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Epilogue

It's Good To Be Alive

()()  
When all you got are broken dreams  
Just need a second chance  
And everything you want to be  
Gets taken from your hands  
We hold on to each other  
All we have is all we need  
'Cause one way or another  
We always make it you and me  
()

"Au revior, mes chers! Bon voyage!" Josephine St. Clair sang out as she stood on the door step of her large family home, her slender arm raised in a wave as the two most important men in her life drove away in the black Jeep Cherokee which had been supplied along with their luxury house and the lucrative business by the CIA.

Once the slow moving vehicle was out of sight, the auburn haired faux Frenchwoman dropped her arm to her side and retreated inside the cool of her air-conditioned home to get ready for the rest of her day.

Ten months ago, if anyone had told her that one day she would witness Michael Westen willingly climb into his car and take a four year old off for a haircut, she would have laughed in their face and told them they were crazy.

She would have told them how she had spent the best part of a decade and a half wishing the dedicated spy with a one track mind could find room in his heart for more than just the sacred call of duty to his beloved country until she had finally come to the conclusion that she was fighting for a lost cause and had done her best to move on.

A new house, a new business, a new man... Carlos...   
She blinked away the memory of her younger lover and partner in bounty hunting.

But in the last eighteen months, things had changed more than she had ever thought possible. When Michael had first returned to Miami, she had been forced to watch from the side lines as the man she still loved, even though he annoyed the hell out of her, came close to destroying himself. In the end, she had been unable to stand back any longer and along with his friends had taken matters into their own hands.

Those first few months after they had broken Michael free of James Kendrick's influence and he'd been forced into accepting living under the protection of the CIA had been hard on them all. While she had done her best to curb her own frustrations over her lover's former employers continued interference in their lives, Michael had been a paranoid mess.

When he wasn't prowling around the house searching for hidden surveillance equipment or staying up all night to guard against any of the multitude of enemies who might be hunting them down, he was at their gun range emptying magazine after magazine into paper targets. When he did sleep, he tossed and turned all night as he was haunted by the demons lurking in his subconscious. But slowly, bit by bit, the ex-operative had begun to relax and acclimate to their new life together.

Reaching the hallway which led from the living area to the bedrooms at the back of the house, Fiona paused to pick up two dinosaur models laying on the floor. Carrying them the short distance to her adopted nephew's room, the former paramilitary opened the door and surveyed the abandoned toys spread out over the carpet.

Of course, it hadn't only been the tightly wound spy who had had to learn a different way of living, especially after Madeline had dropped the equivalent of a bomb on their heads.

At first, Charlie had been shy and quiet, much the same way he had been when his grandmother had taken custody of him back in Miami. However, that quiet had only lasted as long as it took the four year old to discover he was safe, loved and had two unprepared adults at his mercy. With a light chuckle, Charlie's Auntie Fifi tossed the two dinosaurs onto his bed and stepped back out of the room.

Though she had regularly visited Madeline and Charlie back in Miami, she'd never truly appreciated how much mess a small child could produce in a short time. It was certainly giving her a new level of respect for what she and her six siblings must have put their poor mother through.

Still smiling, Fiona glanced down at her watch and then quickened her step. Over sleeping and then having to convince the little hell raiser that if he wanted to go with his Uncle Dan to get a haircut he needed to put on the jeans and T-shirt she had picked out for him was making her late for the meeting she had arranged for this morning.

()()  
This life could almost kill ya  
When you're trying to survive  
It's good to be here with ya  
And it's good to be alive  
()

"You look beautiful, mon amour."

Mrs. Adelaide Germaine-Devereaux smiled, her lips parting in a sigh as she tilted her head to the side to allow the white haired man standing behind her access to her neck while he laid several light kisses from her ear down to her shoulder.

"Hen – Henri, we have to – Henri, we're already late." Unable to resist her new husband's advances any longer, the woman who had been Madeline Westen turned away from checking out her appearance in the mirror to sink into the arms of the man of her dreams.

And that was precisely what the retired shrimp fisherman was to the woman who up until her arrival in New Orleans had been renowned for her bad taste in men. From their first meeting when he and his cousin had found her and Charlie on the verge of passing out after she had injured her knee while hiding out in a remote region of the Louisiana delta right through their whirlwind courtship and even after their discrete marriage ceremony officiated by another of Henri's cousins, this new man in her life had been a complete gentleman........ Her own white knight, riding to her rescue and showering her with nothing but love.

"Oh, Henri," Madeline gasped as they finally broke apart. "We, we really must be going. It's a two hour drive out to that airfield and we -"

"We cannot be late for Daniel's friends. I know, I know, but how can I help myself, cher, when you look so magnifique?"

Things had moved so fast between them, even with Michael's best efforts to throw cold water over their affair, nothing had been able to cool the fire and for once Mrs. Westen had actually been glad that the CIA was there watching over them all.

"We don't know anything about him. I'm sorry, ma, but it's not safe. You should let him down gently now before things get serious."  
"I'm not an idiot, Michael. I know exactly how serious things are... But we have a real connection." 

It was then she had put an end to all of his well-worn arguments with one succinct sentence which her son couldn't dispute........ "Besides your friends in the CIA have done a thorough background check on him and his family and they don't have a problem with my new friend."

It had been funny to watch as her son had tried to come up with an answer after her revelation and it had felt good when he had finally smiled at her and nodded his head in surrender.

"If he's the one, then fine, go for it... But I still think you're moving too fast."  
"Oh, please, Michael, we don't all have the luxury of time," she'd snorted. "Maybe you should take a page out of Henri's book and try to be a bit more romantic. You know, it wouldn't hurt you to do something nice for Fion – Fifi once in a while."

That conversation had happened six months ago, when her only living boy had still been living in the midst of a paranoid nightmare, seeing James Kendrick's henchmen in every shadow, questioning her lover's motives whenever the opportunity arose and generally acting like an ass... Right up to two months ago when he had surprised them all by finally popping the question to the woman of his dreams.

"Enough now, you're messing up my hair. Sam and Jesse will be waiting and you have no idea how much trouble those boys can get into when they're left on their own." Taking her lover by the hand, she snuck another quick peek in the long mirror hanging on the wall before pulling him towards the door."

"If they are friends of Daniel's, I am sure they can look after themselves. But if you insist we don't have the time to -"

"You are a rogue, Henri," Madeline laughed and then gave a little squeal as her paramour lightly slapped her behind.

After all the running and hiding, fearing for her survival and the lives of her son and all his friends, the woman once known as Madeline Westen was all too ready to throw herself into this new life. Descending the steps from their apartment on Barrack Street to the sidewalk below, for the first time in a very long time, Michael's mother couldn't help thinking it was good to be alive.

()()  
It's good to be alive  
I was lost and I was gone  
I was almost dead inside  
You and me against the world  
It's a beautiful night  
It's good to be alive  
()

"Faster, Unca Dan, faster!" Charlie squealed loudly as he clung on tightly to the bar across the front of his seat and his legs kicking out in an effort to help his relative make the swing at the tiny playground take him higher into the air.

The former spy turned family man broke off from scanning the children's area and surrounding park to concentrate his attention on his young charge. Michael favored this place for its relative obscurity and smaller environs, which were easily seen from the swing set with decent cover behind his nephew's favorite piece of equipment…. Some things never changed…

"Okay, buddy, if ya think ya can handle it." Uncle Dan gave the boy another light push, his own smile widening as the youngster giggled with delight as he sailed back and forth.

"Wheee! Again! Again! I wanna go higher!"

"Sure thing -" The ringing of his cell caused Michael to pause mid-push and take a step back to answer the call. "Hang on thar a minute, boy... Hey, Fifi, you finished up at the range already?"

"I have and I thought you might need a little reminder to hurry home. I know how you boys love hanging out in the park. Is Charlie on the swings?"

"Yep, he sure is." Michael gave his nephew another gentle push.

"Well, good luck convincing him you have to leave now, but you need to get back here. I've just had a call from your mother and she said to tell you they're all on their way. So, we should be on our way too."

"We'll be along right quick, darlin'." He glanced at his watch and did the math… Getting Charlie off the swings and out of the park plus the distance and amount of traffic he expected to encounter on the short journey home. "Gimme fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes?" The sound of her musical laughter wafted through the phone. "I'll be waiting."

With the call ended, Michael dropped his phone back into his pocket and studied the back of the youngster, chewing on his bottom lip as he began to work on a strategy to get them out of the park without having to deal with a major tantrum.

"Okay, Charlie, that was yer Auntie Fifi." He grabbed hold of the back of the swing and slowly brought it to a stop. "It's time fer us to git a goin' an' git ready fer our special picnic."

"Five more minutes," the little boy pleaded and gripped the bar tighter, his knuckles turning white while his upper lip stuck out in a stubborn pout. "Puh-leeeze, Unca Dan."

Looking skyward, the former covert operative prepared himself for the upcoming battle of wills........As a field operative, some aspects of life aren't part of your daily experience. You may be familiar with the mountains of Afghanistan or know how to break down a 50-caliber machine gun but that expertise comes at the cost of certain normal activities people take for granted: keeping up with sports teams for example or details of lawn care… or dealing with babies......

His nephew was no longer a baby, but neither was he an Afghani warlord or a dangerous international terrorist who, as far as the retired spy was concerned, would have been so much easier to deal with. Concluding with aggression should his efforts at negotiation fail was not an option with Nate's son, though he had been tempted as the pre-schooler had frustrated him frequently in the beginning.

"Ya know whud, yer right, Charlie… Who wants to git all gussied up and have to wear all them thar fancy clothes? I'll just call Auntie Fifi back and tell her we're gonna spend the whole day in the park and she and Grandma can go git strawberry ice cream without us."

Michael held his breath internally, waiting to see if his gamble would pay off or if he would be explaining to Fiona why they would be holding their 'special picnic' at the playground in their neighborhood park.

"NO!" the little boy yelled, squirming to get out of the swing as fast as he could. His uncle raised the safety bar and aided his nephew out from the seat before he could hurt himself. As soon as the four year olds feet hit the ground, he was flying towards the dark SUV. "Come on, Unca Dan, hurry!"

The dark haired man chuckled as he jogged after the rapidly moving blur. It had taken time, but he was finally getting better at coping with his nephew. Remembering how he had dealt with Nate as a youngster had been far too painful at first to even consider… But as his fear and his guilt had subsided, Michael had been able to look at Charlie, the very image of his father at that age, without burning regret darkening his every thought. Bribing his little brother with food had worked just as well as it did with the man's son.

As he strapped the impatient child into his booster seat, the former agent remembered the day Fiona's own patience with his reticence to be involved with child rearing had come to an abrupt end.

"Am goin' out and yer gonna take care o' him!" she had hissed into his ear after she'd emerged from the bedroom, her flowing locks squished into a mess bun with a clip and her clothes haphazardly thrown on.   
"How is it when it comes ta dealin' terrorists and drug lords ya know exactly whot ta say, but yer afraid o' a four year old? He's nae gonna bite ya, Michael! Talk ta him fer god's sakes! He's yar family. He donnae understand why yer treatin' ham thot way. Hell, I dinnae understand an' I've had years ta deal wit' ya."

Sliding behind the wheel, he smiled at his nephew in the rear view mirror and started the vehicle.

"Hurry, Unca Dan, Auntie Fifi will go wif out us!"

"We're a goin' buddy," he called back over his shoulder as he put the Jeep in gear.

Watching the little boy now, Michael couldn't help but remember the look on Charlie's face then when Fiona had flown out the front door with a quick buss to the youngster's sticky cheek. The dark haired toddler had looked from the door to his panic stricken uncle and back again before bursting into tears.

He had been rooted to the spot when the sobbing child had taken the matter into his own chubby hands, running across the room and latching onto his only male relative's leg with a death grip and he had been stupidly grateful that he was wearing old work jeans instead of his one-time uniform of Armani suits as Charlie's breakfast crumbs were smeared all over his pants.

"Don' leave, Unca Mic'el… I'll be good, puh-leeze, don' leave…"

His brain had suddenly lurched into gear and he had squatted down to the boy's watery eye level, which had actually been really bad tactics as Charlie had taken the opportunity to launch himself forcefully at his unsuspecting uncle's neck and had knocked Michael down on his ass.

Sitting on the floor with a crying toddler wrapped around him, he'd momentarily cursed William Raines in his head with all he had before taking a deep breath to ask why he thought Unca Michael was leaving him.

The ex-spy blinked away the moisture in his blue eyes now, remembering the moment.

He'd had a helluva time understanding his nephew's explanation through the childish speech and the heaving sobs, but he'd eventually understood that Charlie thought he and Fiona were forsaking him as well. His parents were gone, they had fled Miami under a hail of bullets and then his grandmother and Henri had disappeared from his life, off on their honeymoon.

Once Auntie Fifi had flown out the door in an obvious snit, the little one's only conclusion was that his Uncle Michael would be the final person to abandon him, as he was obviously too bad to love.

Normally he would rather have died than cried, but he'd found himself grieving along with the boy for all they both had lost before realizing that he did have a mission in life and a very important one. Whether it was what he would have chosen for himself was irrelevant. The other choices he'd made in his life had led him to this moment. It wasn't a conspiracy between the CIA, his mother and his lover to keep him from being who he had been, it was a reality he could step up to or he could run away and fail the people who loved him and who had gone to great lengths to drag him away from the edge of hell he'd stood on.

Do you know why hell is scary? It's not the pain. It's not the torture or burning in a lake of fire. It's because it's forever… He had told James Foret that and it was true. He had been rescued from a life he thought he wanted that would have eventually consumed him, as surely as the fires of perdition would have.

Pulling up in front of the place he now called home, Daniel Germaine prepared himself for the next step in the new life he was being offered. It might not have been what he planned on, but he planned to make the most of the opportunity he had been given, a second chance to have a life with the people he loved.

()()  
It's good to be alive  
It's good to be alive  
()

With her call to Michael over, Fiona pulled the towel wrapped about her body a little tighter and got to her feet. Fifteen minutes wasn't much time to finish her own preparations and pack away the contents of parcel she had had delivered to their place of business rather than her home address, but if she was quick she might just manage it.

Snatching up the shoebox she'd placed on the dining room table before making the call, she padded silently down the hallway to the bedroom. The box would go into the bag containing her special outfit for their big day. If she hid it under everything else and made sure the hold all was zipped up it would hopefully be enough to keep the special gifts inside safe from the curious eyes of the former spy.

Having showered as soon as she had returned home, Fiona settled down in front of her dressing table and reached out for her hair brush to untangle her freshly washed hair.

"I – er, well – umm – – Fi, can we talk?"   
It had been just over two months ago, while Charlie was playing outside and they had been clearing away the breakfast plates that the taciturn ex-secret agent had sidled up to her and pulled out a chair for her to sit down.

At the time she had felt sick, as the first thing which had sprung to her mind were memories of all the other times her paramour had stuttered out his weak excuses why they couldn't be together. But then, before she could utter any of the scathing retorts about commitment which had bubbled up, her dark haired lover had taken hold of her hands in his, his fingers tracing lightly over the shiny gold band and small diamond engagement ring supplied by the CIA.

"I – I think, er - -"

"Spit it out, Michael," she said, using his real name in her ire. "Whatever it is, I can take it." She'd pulled her hands away and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for him to speak the words she dreaded.

"I -" He'd swallowed thickly and looked away before straightening up to stare deeply into her eyes. "Fiona Cairan Glenanne, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

"Pardon me?!" She smiled now as she remembered her confusion at the proposal. After all for all intents and purposes, they were already a married couple. Hadn't William Raines' lackeys supplied a French marriage certificate along with the rest of the documentation for their new lives?

"I've been thinking about this for a while," Michael stuttered. "I've been thinking about how Raines and the CIA forced this whole marriage thing on us both... So, I want to know, do you want to marry me?"

He had taken her completely by surprise and when she had laughed, and then seen him pale at her reaction, she had flung herself forward and into his arms. "Yes, yes, Michael Donavon Westen, I will marry ya…" Fiona couldn't help herself, kissing him over and over until she took a breather. "But doesn't that mean we'll have to divorce first? And how d'ya plan on explaining it all to our CIA keepers?"

"I have an idea," he'd answered in between kisses. "An official wedding service might raise a few eyebrows, so how do you feel about a blessing?... If I remember right, Sam had a buddy who was a priest, so maybe he could –? Or maybe that cousin of Henri's, if that's what you want?"

With the last of the tangles brushed out of her long hair, Fiona quickly fashioned her still damp mane into a loose chignon, which for the time being would keep her long auburn locks out of the way while she finished getting ready for their journey out to the bayou where they had hidden out after extracting Michael from the clutches of James Kendrick, and Sonya Lebedenko.

During their early days as residents of New Orleans, they'd had several clashes with the protection team or as she preferred to call them their keepers or when she was having a particularly frustrating day their gaolers. 

First, it had been the listening devices and cameras they had discovered hard wired into their new home's electrical system. It had only been after the third time they had ripped the intrusive devices out of the walls or sabotaged them in some way that Agent Nixon and his usually silent partner Metzel had given up on trying to listen in. But that hadn't been the end of the CIA's invasion into their lives, the GPS trackers on their vehicles had been another cause of discord.

It had taken six months for Michael's former employers to loosen the leash and begin to trust that their untrustworthy ex-employee wasn't going to go rogue anytime soon and since then, apart from weekly check-ins, Fiona was pretty sure they were being left alone. But that news hadn't stopped them from going to great lengths to keep the plans for their nuptials secret.

As it had turned out making clandestine arrangements hadn't been as hard as they had thought it was going to be. It might have taken Michael a long time to learn to trust his new step father, but things had definitely been helped along by Henri's large and very accommodating family.

Cousin Jacques had been happy to take his wife and children on a short vacation to Miami. While he was there, he had left a burner phone on table in a yogurt shop, which had been retrieved by its owner who in turn had taken it with her when she visited the Mist Spa at the Darabont hotel; one of the three luxury establishments owned by recently married Mrs. Samuel Axe.

It was a strategy that Sam had put in place using a grateful former client to pass messages so they could keep in touch without alerting the CIA to what they were doing. However, arranging a wedding needed more than the passing of brief notes, especially if their best friends were going to sneak out of Miami to join them.

"Auntie Fifi…! Auntie…Unca Dan, I think she's gone without us... Aunteeee!"

Fiona hurriedly finished buttoning up the jeans she was wearing for the ride out to the swamp. "I'm here, Charlie. Je serai à vous dans une minute."

"Take yer time, Fifi, Charlie here can shower with me while ya finish up."

Fiona paused, her hand resting on the door handle and then she smiled. "Take your time boys. I'll start loading up the car while you get ready."

This was even better, as now she could get her bag into the SUV without having to worry about Michael deciding to look inside.

()()  
It's good to be alive  
It's good to be alive  
()

Sitting on one of the twelve comfortable seats in the brand new Dornier Seastar flying over the Gulf of Mexico, Sam Axe couldn't deny that in the last nine months his life had taken a full one hundred eighty degree turn for the better.

Living under the watchful and sometimes intrusive eye of the CIA had been an annoyance at times, as Michael's former recruiting officer had shown he was determined to break up what he had called Westen's network of miscreants.

Barry Burkowski, their one-time go to guy on all matters concerning finance, had left Miami for places unknown, as had the computer genius Dixon and over the months Sam had discovered his own buddy network of FBI, police and other agencies had dried up too.

Nobody had come out and actually said they had been approached by one of the suit and sun glasses brigade, but their sudden need to be somewhere else or refusal to return phone calls had left the former SEAL with no doubt in his mind that he was now considered a persona non grata to any government worker who wished to keep their job.

But none of that really mattered any more. He had been assured his old friends were safe in their new locations far away from Miami and besides that, after spending so long fighting threats from various agencies both rogue and legitimate, ex-Commander Axe was ready to enjoy his well-earned retirement.

Life was good. In fact, his life was very, very good indeed. He had the love of a smart, beautiful woman and a new business, consulting on all matters involving security at small chain of Dearbon hotels in Miami, as well as working the occasional side job with Jesse Porter whenever he felt the need to get the adrenaline flowing and the old heart pumping faster. He missed his friends but he was happy for them.

Glancing out of the window looking down on the expanse of ocean below him and then the broken coastline in the distance, Sam couldn't help but smile. Surviving the attack on James Kendrick and his team of international terrorists had reminded him of how good it felt to be alive, but getting to meet up with his best buddy and his girl particularly on this day was even better.

"Hey, Jesse…" The former SEAL turned his attention to the other side of the luxury aircraft to where his partner in crime was catching up on his beauty sleep. "Time to wake up, buddy, we're almost there."

()()  
It's good to be alive  
It's good to be alive.  
()

Jesse grinned as the wind whipped about his bald head, making his eyes water. Ever since he and Sam had stepped off the seaplane and onto the waiting airboat, he had been feeling nothing but positive about the precarious journey they had taken to meet up with their friends. It had been a risk, but so worth it.

He had never seen Madeline Westen, or Mrs. Adelaide Devereaux, look as happy as she was now. He turned his head to glance back to where the woman he had grown to think of as a surrogate mother was snuggled into the side of her new husband and the pilot of the craft carrying them out into the depths of one of Louisiana bayous.

It was hard to believe that less than a year ago it had looked like they were going to end their days locked away in a CIA black site, because their friend had gone rogue, turning on not only his family and friends but his country too. Jesse shuddered as he remembered what he'd been feeling the first time he had headed towards this cabin in the swamps with an unconscious and bound Michael Westen in the boat.

Things had certainly changed for the better and not only for Maddie with her new squeeze or Sam who had finally tied the knot with the woman of his dreams. He now had his own significant other and he hoped she was going to yes when he got up the nerve to pop the question.

Jennifer Jenkins, a divorcee and mother of two, had transferred from the Virginia office not long after he had returned to Securicorp, after his so-called temporary recruitment back in to the CIA for top secret assignment of national importance had ended. At least the Agency had gotten him his job back.

They had been thrown together to provide a security detail for a high powered couple in Miami for a month of business meetings. He had found the tall incredibly leggy, black haired, brown eyed beauty to be smart, tough and possessing a wicked sense of humor, not unlike a certain lady from his past who would apparently not be returning to his side of the world at any time if ever, and they had hit it off straight away.

At the end of the assignment, after a month of working side by side, late night debriefing sessions and strategy meetings, she had invited him over to her condo for a family meal. Her kids, Travis who was four and was a holy terror, as his own momma used to say, and Lizzie, who at sixteen months was as cute as a button, had adored the tall, bald stranger in their midst and ever since then things had been moving fast.

Admittedly the first few times it happened, he had found being woken up in the early hours of the morning by two small bodies leaping on the bed more than a little disconcerting. It had taken some effort to keep his counter-intel reflexes under control and it had taught him the value of wearing pajama bottoms to bed.

And there were the other times he'd had to bite down on his tongue, or a couple of times leave the room, when Jenny's jackass of an ex called to supposedly speak to their kids, but it seemed to him what the guy really wanted to do was cause the mother of their children pain. It was a good thing for the man's health that he was their father and lived far, far away. Jesse wasn't a fool and he knew at their age everyone had baggage of some sort. Besides, he was really beginning to get the hang of the whole instant family gig.

Feeling a hand slap down on his arm, the former CIFA officer turned back and then followed the direction his newest partner in crime was pointing. And there it was, the old wooden cabin set up on stilts; the place that they had all come together to finally begin to repair the damaged soul of the battle weary operative.

With two airboats already tied up and thinking about the other instant family guy, Jesse saluted the man himself. The former super spy stood on the veranda, one arm raised in a greeting while the other was draped over the shoulders of the petite Irish wild woman who had helped that man mend his broken heart.

Leaning over the wooden railing, waving wildly with both hands was the little boy who was nothing at all like the quiet withdrawn child he remembered. Mr. Porter chuckled. Now having some idea of what a four year old was like, he couldn't wait to hear what kind of grief Charlie had been putting them though.

()()  
It's good to be alive  
It's good to be alive.  
()

They came together on the veranda, hugging and exchanging greetings, quickly filling in all the details of their separate lives. Sam gratefully accepting the bottle of imported beer handed to him by his best friend's gal along with the surprise of a kiss to the cheek.

But the biggest change had to be in the tightly wound, stoic spy who appeared to have morphed into a thoroughly chilled family man, happily swinging a hyper-active four year old up onto his shoulders without batting an eye.

"You're looking good, Mikey... I never thought I'd get to say it to ya, but married life suits you, buddy." Sam gave his pal a hearty slap on the back.

"It sure beats the hell outta the alternative," he returned with a laugh. "I guess I just needed one last second chance... Thank you…" Michael added quietly so only Sam could hear. "How about you…? It's hard to believe, Chuck Finley has hung up his guns for the last time."

"You better believe it and not just me. You heard about Jesse? You're not the only one now, Mikey. Jess's got himself a ready-made family too."

The former SEAL leaned in close, talking out of the side of his mouth, but still loud enough for the topic of their conversation to hear every word. "A beautiful divorcee, two little hell raisers… she's a former analyst working for military intelligence and now the latest superstar of Securicorp… It was like a match made in heaven. First time we saw 'em down on the beach, this one was sitting down building sandcastles."

The laughter had continued, the three friends inviting Henri into their group when, after a few minutes of good natured ribbing and greatly missed comradery, Madeline and Fiona disappeared into one of the bedrooms at the back of the cabin with a couple of large bags.

"Michael," she called out from the back. "Don't forget you and Charlie need to get ready, Étienne is waiting for us."

"It's Unca Dan!" the little boy in question corrected from his position behind the dark haired man's head.

Michael smirked. "It's okay, but jus' fer today, champ…. Sure thang, darlin', we'll be along in a minute," he returned loudly before turning his attention back to his friends. Opening his mouth to answer Sam's comment about being whipped, his lips soon snapped shut

"Dan - i - el, now! You know how long it takes to get Charlie dressed."

Dropping his chin to his chest in defeat, Michael chose to ignore his friends' laughter and faux marital advice and lifted his nephew down off his shoulders. "Come on, boy, we best git 'er done before Auntie Fifi blows a head gasket."

Guiding the child towards the door his beloved had just sauntered through with his mother, Michael rubbed a hand over his recently shaven jaw to the sounds of the other men's continued merriment.

Being pussy whipped was far better than being pistol whipped…. Fiona might have settled into the life given to them, but that didn't change the fact she still had a red hot temper and a mean right hook.

He used his hand to cover his mouth as he smirked again, remembering the last time she'd thrown a punch at him and what had followed that sudden bout of violence. If being p-whipped, as Sam put it, had gotten him a half hour of very strenuous but pleasurable bedroom activity, he wasn't about to complain.

"Unca Dan, I don't wanna get changed." Charlie came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the room being set up for the ceremony and for the party afterwards, bringing Michael sharply back to the present.

"I want some ice cream... Granma said I can't have any cuz I can't get my new clothes dirty. I want ice cream, ice cream, Unca Dan!"

"Later, Charlie…" He attempted to take the pre-schooler's hand, but the four year old was as usual one step ahead of his uncle and threw himself down onto the floor.

"I don't wanna dress up, I want ice cream. You promised, Unca Dan!"

Now Henri and his relatives were turning to watch the scene playing out, his stepfather looking towards the bedroom door where Fiona and his mother had vanished behind a few minutes earlier.

Closing his eyes for a second, Michael fought to maintain control. Things had been going so good.

"Ice cream! I – I – w-want sommmme ice crweam! NOW! Now, now, now, now…"

"Everything alright, Daniel…? You want me to go get your mama, or Fifi?" His mother's husband was now at his side...

"Great," Michael huffed internally and for a moment wished he was living in that cave he'd spend six months in back in Afghanistan as he often did when Charlie's temper almost got the better of them both.

Then the former spy did what he always did in these situations. Ever since Fiona had forced him to confront his reticence in dealing with his nephew, he had come to realize that Daniel Germaine, the easy going, Alabama-born retired soldier was far better at coping with normal family emergencies and relationship issues. Slipping into a cover ID to deal with problems is what he had always done best.

"We're fine here, Henri. No need to trouble the ladies with this here, is thar now, Charlie…?"

Squatting down beside the boy, Daniel reached out and ruffled his nephew's dark hair. "Come on, quit yer fussing, boy. Yer makin' a fool a yerself over nothin', ya hear? Are ya sure ya heard yer grandma right?

Charlie stopped crying and looked up at his uncle through tear filled eyes.

"Ah'm pretty darned sure what she meant to say was ya can't have any ice cream til after we've all got dressed up and had the party. Cuz it ain't no party until everyone is in their Sunday best, now is it?"

"You promise?" he sniffed.

"Cross my heart, I tell you what, the sooner we get into those fancy clothes the sooner the party can get started and the sooner you'll get a big bowl of Strawberry ice-cream and I swear I saw some sprinkles over on the table too."

"Ice cream and sprinkles…?" The little boy was back on his feet.

"Sure thing, but I'll tell ya somethin' else, young man… Ya throw another fit like that and thar ain't gonna be no dessert for you at all. Ya hear me, Charlie Germaine?"

"O-kay…" the brown haired child, looking more like Nate than ever with his face still flushed from his temper tantrum, stuck out his bottom lip before mumbling his apology.

"Okay then, long as we understand each other, we're good here. Let's go…"

With a heavy sigh of relief, Michael got back to his feet and quickly chased after his nephew, who had rushed towards the back of the house, satisfied with their negotiation and finally ready to get dressed.

()()()()

In the largest of the bedrooms, unaware of what was taking place in the other room, Fiona carefully opened her bag on the bed and unfolded the cream lace dress she had bought especially for the occasion and then took out two shoe boxes.

One contained a pair of four inch cream-colored Louboutin pumps, which exactly matched her dress, and the other was the box which had been delivered to the shooting range by an old family friend who had made a special side trip on his way to his home on Isla Mujeres, the small island off the coast of Cancun.

"Fiona?" Madeline stopped her own unpacking to examine the contents of the second shoe box.

"Gifts from home…" The younger woman smiled, putting aside an envelope full of family photographs. She picked up a red velvet jewellery box, opening the lid to reveal an antique gold pocket watch. "It was me daddy's. I remember him winding it every morning before he walked me and Sean to school and on Sundays before we went to church he used to spend an hour polishing it."

She brushed her fingers over the shamrock leaf etched onto the casing. "He said it had been his grandfather's and had been on him when he was killed during the Easter Rising... Me mam has asked me to pass it on to Michael as a way of welcoming him into the family."

"Oh, Fiona…" Madeline couldn't put her feelings into words at the generosity of her daughter in laws mother. She had never really paid attention to the world news. But she had learned a lot from Fiona's brother Sean when he had been recuperating on her couch and knew that receiving this gift was a sure sign that Maeve Glenanne had forgiven Michael for his time spying on her family.

"And this…" Fiona carefully unwrapped several layers of tissue paper to reveal a long length of very old and delicate lace along with a hair band made out of what looked like silver and decorated with tiny emeralds. "This was my mother's wedding veil. My sister in law Isabelle wore it last and before me mammy, it had belonged to her mother. It's handmade Irish lace. Do you think you can help me with my hair? I'd like to wear it today."

"It's beautiful, Fiona –" Michael's mother was almost overcome with emotion. She never thought she would live to see the day her boy did right by his long suffering girlfriend and certainly had never imagined that Fiona's family would finally forget their grievances with such generosity. "Fi, regardless of what my son says, we'll have to take some photos. Then you can send them home."

"I could send them back when I return the veil."

"What's that?" Madeline's curiosity took over as she pointed to another box, this one wrapped in silver paper and sealed with red tape.

Fiona lifted the box and felt the weight, before reading the card attached: It's not a shotgun, but we're sure McBride will get the idea.

"What is that supposed to mean?" The older woman examined the card while Fiona removed the paper and opened the box.

"A Bond Arms Ranger, derringer with a 4.25 inch barrel, stainless steel frame with ivory grips inlaid with gold." She raised the small gun pointing it at the door and sighting along the short barrel and then after a moment placed it into a slim line pink thigh holster which had been included in the package. "It is a bad joke on my brother's part. They've just got a funny way of showing their approval."

"You think they still disapprove?"

"No, no, Adelaide. If they disapproved it, it wouldn't have been a little pistol like that they would have been sending me. Let's just say they have an odd sense of humor... Daniel will understand... Now, let's get ready before Charlie gives him the slip and gets into the desserts waiting in the fridge." Slipping out of her jeans, the auburn haired beauty fixed the thigh holster to her leg before reaching for dress.

"What?" She asked at the look her mother in law was giving her. "Oh, the pistol? Daniel will think it's cute."

()()()()

Chairs had been set out in the small living space for the few guests, wildflowers, ribbons and balloons supplied by Madeline's new in-laws decorated the bare room and in one corner, four of Henri Devereaux's kin played a soft tune on an assortment of instruments.

Then finally two bedroom doors opened almost in unison and the couple stepped out side by side, following on the heels of a rather nervous looking Charlie Germaine, who led the way solemnly toward where his new Uncle Étienne stood waiting before a makeshift altar.

"You look beautiful Fi." Michael gazed at his beloved, his hand squeezing hers a little tighter as his blue orbs flickered over her very short and very tightly fitted cream lace dress and the exquisite veil which was held in place by a delicate silver crown and trailed over her long auburn locks which hung in ringlets past her shoulders.

"Ya look kinda manifique yar self, Monsieur Germaine." She deliberately mangled her accents as she playfully bumped against his side, her shining eyes raking over his form resplendent in grey Armani again.

Coming to a stop, Fiona leaned forward and gently directed Charlie to take a seat next to his grandmother as the local pastor began to recite his blessing on the couple standing before him. At the end of his speech, he looked from Fiona to Michael and then asked if they had any special vows they wished to say to each other before the conclusion of the service.

"No-" her newly blessed husband started to say and then, before he could object, she turned to face him. Holding his hands in hers, she stared up into his panic stricken albeit misty blue eyes and, ignoring the deer in the headlights look he was sending her way, she began to speak.

"Lorsque tout ce que vous avez sont les rêves brisés... Juste besoin d'une seconde chance...Et tout ce que vous voulez être... Se fait prendre de vos mains... Nous nous accrochons à l'autre... Tout ce que nous avons est tout ce qu'il faut... Parce que d'une façon ou d'une autre... Nous faisons toujours toi et moi"

"What did she say, Henri?" Madeline whispered loudly into her husband's ear. "Tell me, was it something romantic?"

Slowly, as the words had flowed and he had recognized what his beloved was saying, the former spy had relaxed, a smile growing on his face even as a slight blush covered his freshly shaven cheeks. Ignoring his mother's questioning of his father in law, Michael cleared his throat and then, hesitantly at first, began to reply. He'd had to relearn his French in order to support their cover identity, but it was still a stretch.

"Il est bon d'être en vie... Je suis perdu et je suis parti... Je suis presque mort à l'intérieur...Vous et moi contre le monde...Il est une belle nuit...Il est bon d'être en vie."

It was their song, something which had happened to have been playing over the speakers at their indoor gun range and firearms store that the CIA had supplied them with on the day of their first big blow out.

He had been checking in the inventory when he had come across three large suspiciously unmarked crates. Opening the first, he had discovered one thousand tracer rounds, not exactly illegal but not something they were licensed to carry in stock. 

But what had been of more concern was the six shiny, brand new Czech Republic CZ 805 Bren assault rifles, which definitely had no place in amongst their stock of hand guns and then there had been box after box of Teflon coated ammunition filling up the last crate, again not illegal in Louisiana, but something that if a certain nosy CIA agent out found would make the deal with Raines null and void.

()()  
When all you got are broken dreams  
Just need a second chance  
And everything you want to be  
Gets taken from your hands  
()

"Hey, Fifi, you got somethin' ya wanna tell me about?" He'd yelled from the storeroom. Already frustrated by being stuck with all the paperwork, he had been looking for an excuse to explode.

"I'm just holding them for a friend. They'll be gone in a day or two and we will have made an extra two thousand for very little trouble," had been her flippant reply, which had lit the det cord of his already frayed temper.

The argument had soon developed into a full scale shouting match, as accusations had flown back and forth and it came very clear that the woman he loved had more than a few frustrations of her own.

()()  
We hold on to each other  
All we have is all we need  
'Cause one way or another  
We always make it you and me  
()

At the time, the song had been nothing but an annoyance, buzzing away in the background, while he insisted that she called Jojo Delaney there and then to tell him and all her other god-forsaken criminal associates to find somewhere else to stockpile their inventory.

And she had retaliated with her feelings about his attitude towards his mother's boyfriend, Charlie and that was before she had really got into her stride and brought up the fact she had found his "bug out" bag hidden in the back of the garage amongst a pile of empty boxes.

"You tell me I've gotta cut all my old ties, but what happens when you decide you've had enough? When you disappear in the middle of the night- again! - and leave me, Charlie and your mom to face the music. We're going to need the money and my contacts then."

He hadn't realized how much the song had resonated with both of them, as their argument had turned in a heartbeat from being ready to tear each other apart to holding each other tight and making promises to change until Fiona returned home a few weeks later from a shopping trip with the CD. It wasn't exactly his tastes musically, but the words had truly sunk into his soul.

So, she had spoken the first verse, reminding the other half of her soul where they had come from, what they had almost lost, and how far they had come to arrive at where they were today and he had replied.

()()  
It's good to be alive  
I was lost and I was gone  
I was almost dead inside  
You and me against the world  
It's a beautiful night  
It's good to be alive  
()

"Well, who woulda thought you had it in you, Mikey." Sam broke the moment. "I for one was beginning to think you didn't have a romantic bone in your whole body."

The blushing couple turned to face their friends as the small tight knit group clapped and cheered, passing on more advice which had Madeline frantically reaching out to cover her grandson's ears.

"I have something for you. It's in the bedroom." Fiona spoke from behind her smile.

"I er, I don't think now is the time, Fi," Michael replied in the same manner, drawing her closer against his side. "Um, I was thinking later... When Charlie is -"

"Nae thot ,ya daft man," she huffed, reverting to her native accent she tightened her grip on his hand and dragged him towards the back of the cabin. Sam's guffaw was quickly joined by Jesse's sniggering.

"One more word, Sam Axe, an' I swear I'll -" The flame haired former gun runner pointed a finger at the older man, daring him to utter one more word before continuing to pull her reluctant partner towards the bedroom where she had got changed earlier.

Slamming the door shut behind them, Fiona picked up the red velvet jewellery box and held it out reverently to her spouse.

"I know how you and our government watchdogs feel about my friends coming around. So, I had this delivered to the range after I was sure they had given up on watching our every move and when I was sure you were going to be too busy to worry about I was getting up to. Open it; it's a present from me mother."

He paused, narrowing his eyes as he eased the lid open, half expecting the box to explode. Finding an antique pocket watch inside, he sent his beloved a quizzical look.

"It was my father's and his dad's before that. He was given it by my great grandmother when he turned eighteen. It had been worn by his father during the Easter Rising."

"So, she no longer wants me dead?" he queried distractedly as he picked the watch up and ran his thumb over the pattern etched into the lid, awed by the gift and what it meant.

"I don't think she ever wanted you dead."

"No, I remember very clearly the first time I was invited to Casa Glenanne, she took me outside and showed me where she kept her guard dogs and I have a very strong memory of what she promised me would happen if I ever let you down."

She wrapped her arms about his waist. "If she had wanted you dead, you would be dead." Her mouth covered his, her tongue gliding along his lip, before nipping the tender flesh. "And Am fairly certain yer very much alive."

This time when she kissed him, his lips parted and their tongues stroked against each other in a dance of passion. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing a little heavier.

"We should get back to the party." Michael slipped the Glenanne family heirloom into his pocket. "Sam and Jesse risked a lot coming out here."

"Did you see Sam's eyes light up at the sight of all the fried chicken on the table and the big pot of Gumbo heating on the stove," she laughed lightly as they turned towards the door.

"I think Elsa has him back on another fitness regime." Michael chuckled and took her hand.

They spent the rest of the afternoon catching up and trading stories, Michael and Fiona drawing closer together as they listened wistfully to Jesse telling the tale of how he had foiled the systematic theft of Ketamine from a veterinary supplier's warehouse.

"Do you still miss it? The life of a spy...?" She leaned in close, speaking into his ear.

Michael sighed and then smiled softly. "That life nearly killed me, Fi," he answered quietly. "I think I prefer this one." Turning his head, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, not caring that everyone was watching.

Looking back to his small circle of friends, he gestured with a tilt of his chin to where Charlie was tugging on his grandmother's skirt with ice cream covered fingers. "I also think the little guy is getting over tired."

()()()()

First Madeline and Henri took their leave, taking Charlie with them to give the newly blessed couple some much needed alone time. Following closely on the elderly couple's heels and after another round of hugs and promises to keep in touch, Sam and Jesse rushed to catch up with their ride back to where their plane waited for them.

Finally alone, the couple took their time to change out of their wedding finery.

"Your brothers really sent you that gun?" he asked as she removed the holster from her thigh.

"They were worried you might need a little convincing to stay around." She grinned as he lowered the zipper of her form fitting dress. "They haven't seen you for over what is it now? Thirteen, fourteen years…? They don't know how much you've changed."

Turning around, she patted his cheek and then moved in closer, purring into his ear. "We could stay here tonight." The palm of one hand drifted from the flat tone abs beneath her husband's dark cotton T-shirt to the rough denim of the front of his jeans. "All alone, staring up at the stars, no worries about Raines' minions with their hidden mics and cameras..."

"You'd rather stay out here? With the insects, spiders and the snakes, sleeping on a hard wooden floor risking bites, stings and not to mention splinters…?" He questioned as he stepped back, hanging her dress up in the garment bag along with his suit.

Fiona smiled seductively at him, standing there in her lacy underwear. "It would be rather like our first time would it nae, Michael?" The Irish lilt slipping into her voice again.

He ducked his head for a moment, his sly smile and slight reddening of his cheeks letting her know that he too was remembering their first encounter in her family's old ruined farmhouse on the road to Derry

"We could," he agreed as he picked up her jeans and T-shirt, preparing to put them into the bag. "But then we'd waste that reservation I made for three nights at the Roosevelt Hotel in a luxury suite."

"Michael!" she gasped. Her thick headed lover had made them hotel reservations only two times in the nearly two decades they had known one another.

"I made the arrangements while you were busy... I've also organized for some transport to be waiting for us at the dock, but if you'd rather stay here…" He didn't have to finish the sentence. Fiona snatched her clothing out of his hand, dressing in a flash and flying out the door. She was already at the controls of the airboat by the time her dark haired lover brought the bags out and secured the cabin.

"You best let me drive. Hold on tight and I'll have back on dry land before you can blink."

()()()()

An hour later Fiona was, if not exactly heaven, somewhere close… The spy who couldn't have organized a romantic getaway if his life depended on it had not only booked them a suite in one of the most expensive hotels in New Orleans, he had also as far as she was concerned arranged the perfect transportation to get them there.

Twisting the throttle of her black Hayabusa motorcycle, the engine roared and the front wheel lifted off the ground as she left a thick black strip of burning rubber on the road. Laughing, with her long hair streaming out behind her from under her helmet, she led the way towards the bright lights of their new home town.

Following in her wake, Michael too enjoyed the wind on his face and the simple joy of being alive.

()()  
Driving down this highway  
Soaking up the sun  
Got miles to go before we get home  
And the journey's just begun  
We hold on to each other  
You are everything I need  
You feel like forever  
You're the second chance for me

This life could almost kill ya  
When you're trying to survive  
It's good to be here with ya  
And it's good to be alive

It's good to be alive  
I was lost and I was gone  
I was almost dead inside  
You and me against the world  
It's a beautiful night  
It's good to be alive

It's beautiful night  
Yeah, it's all right  
It's good to be alive

This life could almost kill ya  
When you're trying to survive  
It's good to be here with ya  
It's good to be alive

It's good to be alive  
It's good to be alive  
It's good to be alive  
It's good to be alive  
It's good to be alive

And it's good to be alive  
It's good to be alive  
I was lost and I was gone  
I was almost dead inside  
You and me against the world  
It's a beautiful night  
It's good to be alive

It's beautiful night  
Yeah, it's all right  
It's good to be alive  
()

L'Fin


End file.
